Papa's Little Mocking Bird
by MirrorWakes
Summary: An AU Severitus Challenge FanFiction featuring Dragons, Convicts, Malfoys, Werewolves, Snapes, the Ministry of Magic and other horrifying phenomena, and all of this is BEFORE First Year!
1. Prologue: I'm All Alone

PAPA'S LITTLE MOCKING-BIRD

Fanfiction By: **MirrorWakes**

Summary: _An AU Severitus Challenge FanFiction featuring Dragons, Convicts, Malfoys, Werewolves, Snapes, the Ministry of Magic and other horrifying phenomena, and all of this is BEFORE First Year!_

A/N: Well, this is my 3rd attempt at _Harry Potter: The Boy Who Almost Wasn't _and_ The Boy Who Almost Wasn't_. I renamed it _Papa's Little Mocking-Bird_ because the previous two titles had nothing whatsoever to do with the story.

I'd like to take this opportunity to answer a few questions:

Many people have asked me where the name 'Ebon' came from. The answer is simple: Ebon was a boy in my year eight class whom I _despised_, most particularly for hating Harry Potter. So one day I decided to pay him back, and essentially _made_ him Harry Potter – a street urchin version.

Numerous reviewers have asked me about Ebon's accent. Umm… Well, It's actually the Rural Aussie (Outback Australian to all you foreigners) accent – the one I hear everyday on the street.

Finally,a _**BIG**_ thank you to my wonderful betas **QueenB **and **Rosie**.

Prologue:_ …I'm All Alone_

Disclaimer:_ This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. I have used many quotes from the authors Terry Pratchett, JD Robb, Lloyd Alexander, MM Kaye, Diana Wynne Jones, Dudley Pope and Douglas Adams in this fic, but again, no copyright or trademark infringement is intended._

§§§

_Here am I, Little Jumping Joan,_

_When I'm by myself, I'm all alone._

Petunia Dursley was astonished – and that's putting it mildly – when she opened the front door to collect the milk and, along with said product, she found a sleeping baby boy.

"Vernon!" Petunia shrieked.

"What's happened, Petunia? What's wrong?" The questions were bellowed from inside the house by Petunia's husband, Vernon Dursley – a big, beefy man with little neck and a large, bushy moustache.

"Come see for yourself," screamed Petunia. "I think it's _her_ boy!"

Clearly, Vernon knew who 'her' was for he came huffing and puffing to stand beside his wife, and looked down at the child who had already caused so much trouble.

"We can't keep him, Vernon. I won't have him near my little Dudleykins!"

As if he had heard this last comment, their son, 'little Dudleykins', suddenly emitted a roar that would put a lion to shame.

"Oh dear," quavered Petunia. "I'm coming, poppet!"

"Well, we can't just leave him out here!" yelled Vernon after his distressed wife. This statement brought Petunia to a sudden halt halfway up the stairs.

"Yes, you're right. Bring him in so the neighbours don't find out."

So Vernon Dursley picked up the tiny bundle and carried him inside, closing the door behind him.

Harry Potter, for that's who the baby was, looked around curiously, amazed by his new surroundings. A fresh bellow from above brought his large, emerald-green eyes upwards to see Petunia carrying a now howling Dudley towards him. "What was_ my sister's_ offspring doing on the doorstep of _our_ house?" demanded Petunia, looking at Harry as if he were something unpleasant she had just stepped on.

"I don't know, Petunia dear, but there's a note, perhaps it explains some of this."

So Vernon and Petunia Dursley opened the letter Professor Dumbledore had put in Harry's blankets the previous night.

It read:

'_Dear Mr and Mrs Dursley,_

_It is with deep sorrow that I must inform you of Lily and James Potter's demise. The Potters were murdered during the night by the dark wizard Lord Voldemort._

_Voldemort tried to kill your nephew Harry Potter as well but, miraculously, he survived with nothing but the scar on his forehead to show for his near- fatal experience._

_Lord Voldemort has vanished, making Harry Potter famous._

_Sadly, you are the only family he has left, which is why I trust you to keep him safe, love him as your own, and reveal his past to him when the time is right. _

_Yours,_

_Albus Dumbledore._'

Vernon and Petunia stood looking at each other in horror, while Dudley busied himself trying to eat his mother's best locket.

"Well, that settles it. He is _not_ staying," said Petunia Dursley, stamping her foot. "'Love him as your own' indeed! He's a freak! Why can't his own freakish people keep him?"

Petunia held Dudley away from her green-eyed nephew, as if afraid her son would catch some form of deadly disease if kept too close.

"I'll take him to an orphanage then, dear, shall I?" muttered Vernon in an attempt to halt his wife's swelling tirade on 'freaks and what should be done about them'.

"Yes. And I'll burn the letter," decided Petunia. With that, she snatched Dumbledore's note out of her husband's hand, walked to the living room and threw it into the fireplace.

Meanwhile, Vernon had stepped out to the car and placed his unfortunate nephew inside.

It took the best part of an hour to drive to the nearest orphanage.

§§§

When they arrived, Vernon Dursley realised he had a problem. How was he going to explain how he had come across the child? He couldn't just blurt out the truth. That would lead to many awkward questions he wasn't prepared to answer.

In the end, Vernon came to a simple solution. He would just leave his nephew on the doorstep with a note. After all, that's what _their kind_ had done to _him_, wasn't it?

So, Vernon Dursley left his nephew at the door of the Ken Payne Home for Foundlings and drove home. Consciously putting the child out of his mind, he thought about what Petunia was going to cook for his dinner.

§§§

Ken Payne wasn't happy.

He had another mouth to feed, nappy to change and more wailing to listen to. The note left with the boy had simply read: '_Harry James Potter. One. Unwanted._' Unfortunately, the name 'Harry James Potter' was too common – Ken already had in his files a child by the same title.

He decided to make up a new name for the boy: _Last name's not a problem, but the first..._ _Hmmm, male, ebony-black hair, so... How about Ebon? Yes,_ that_ was a possibility._

Ken pulled a blank document toward him and scrawled in the child's new name: Ebon Potter.

Ken took one more look at the newly christened baby Ebon and bellowed for his wife – Helen Payne – to take it away. He couldn't stand looking at the little sewer-rat any longer. Actually, he couldn't stand looking at _any_ of his charges any more. Ken hated his job, and he didn't care who knew it. The only highlight was the 'sport', and even that was starting to lose its appeal. In short, Ken was bored. Perhaps some fresh meat was just what he needed. Plus he'd get more money from the government for the extra costs.

Just then, Helen shuffled through the door. "And not a moment too soon," Ken growled, stealing a small snatch of pleasure in seeing his timid wife tremble before him. "What kept ya?"

Helen mumbled something unintelligible and looked at the floor.

"Well. Take the brat away then. Don't be all day about it."

Helen squeaked and rushed to collect Ebon from the table – his current location. Ebon stirred in her arms and waved his small hands about, dreaming about something only babies could understand. That was one of the last good dreams Ebon ever had in the Ken Payne Home for Foundlings.

§§§

Six-year-old Ebon was startled out of his restless sleep by the breakfast-bell.

"All righ' ya little urchins. Grub's up," hollered Cane up the stairs. That was the call that had awoken Ebon every morning for as long as he could remember. Not wanting to miss the aforementioned 'grub', Ebon hurriedly dressed, pulling on a tattered old jumper over his bare chest, and ripped, faded jeans over his thin legs.

When fully clothed, he ran down the stairs to the mess hall and quickly took his place at the correct table.

'Cane' was the name the orphans had given Ken after one unfortunate child, who was hard of hearing, mistook the name Ken Payne for 'Cane', earning himself a particularly savage telling-off that night, but despite this, the name had stuck. Helped perhaps by the bamboo cane Ken always carried with him to assist the dominant image he strove to convey to his wards. Anyway, Cane unceremoniously slopped a heap of lumpy porridge – made by Helen – into Ebon's chipped enamel bowl.

"Eat up 'cause you're not getting any more!" was the only greeting the orphans received that morning.

Alex, a tall, sour-looking boy of thirteen, leaned over and grabbed the front of Ebon's filthy jumper. Breathing his cigarette-smoke-filled breath into the small boy's face, Alex whispered something only he and Ebon could hear.

The six-year-old desperately wanted to lean back, away from Alex's repulsive odour. Ebon had hated the smell of cigarettes ever since the older boys had allowed him to try one a year ago; it had burned his throat horribly, and Ebon had coughed so much he'd nearly had to be taken to hospital. Helen had said that this was a good experience for the youth (a view Ebon strongly objected to), reasoning that now Ebon had tried one, he'd never feel the need to smoke cigarettes again.

Ebon nodded, relieved to be able to back away, and finished off the last of his porridge just as Cane snatched the bowl out from under his nose.

§§§

One hour later, Ebon, Alex and a few other boys from Ken Payne's orphanage were loitering near the high brick wall, which kept them secure inside their prison.

"Right, ya know what to do, don't ya Ebon?" whispered Alex. "Jus' keep guard an' make sure that Cane don't see us, righ'? Nothin' should happen, Helen's promised ta keep 'im busy for ten minutes, but jus' in case…"

"You'll help me over after won't ya, Alex? Ya promised. Ya know ya did." Ebon looked beseechingly into Alex's sharp, mud-brown eyes, his small fists jammed into the pockets of his ripped jeans in an attempt to hide their shaking.

"'Course I will. I said I would, didn' I? Jus' keep watch an' whistle loud if anyone comes." With those consolatory words ringing in his ears, Ebon quietly walked over to the corner of the vine-covered wall and watched Alex and his friends climb up the ivy vines to make their escape from the hell they had all been sharing.

Three minutes later, a soft whisper came from the other side of the wall, "Hey. Ebon. Ya want to get ou' of there or what?" then a hand slowly crept over the top of the mossy barrier and gave a slight wave, before disappearing once more.

Ebon quickly scrambled up the dense vines until his head was visible to the boys on the other side. "Righ', give me ya hand an' I'll try an' lift ya over," grunted Alex, who stood on the shoulders of the second-tallest boy, himself being the tallest.

"Where do ya think _you're_ goin', ya lackwit? Get ya sorry 'ide back here before ya fall an' break ya sorry neck!" The yell came from Cane, who had spotted Ebon's latest escape attempt through an orphanage window. He was hurrying towards the young boy rather quickly, considering he was dragging one unfortunate orphan along behind him. Helen's distraction had failed.

"Whoops. Sorry Ebon, gotta run. Ya understand, don' ya?" Without waiting for a reply, Alex jumped off his friend's shoulders, and he and his cronies ran off down the street, gloating at their good fortune, Ebon already forgotten.

Meanwhile, poor Ebon was staring in horror at the furious Cane, and wondering why the gods hated him so much. He looked from Cane to the deserted street and back to Cane again, all the while weighing his chances.

_Well, here goes. I've got nothing to lose and freedom to gain._ With that thought, Ebon jumped the fifteen-feet from the top of the wall to the ground.

§§§

A/N: That's the revised version… What's the verdict? I'd _love_ to know (hint, hint).

Interesting way to get Harry both out of the Dursleys, into abusive care and then out onto the streets… I'll be interested in seeing where this goes. Nothing particularly wrong with the chapter, though the accents are beginning to get to me a little. :oP

Excellent work, and onto the next I go!

Rosie


	2. Give the Poor Singer a Penny

PAPA'S LITTLE MOCKING-BIRD

Fanfiction By: **MirrorWakes**

A/N: Thanks once more to my glorious beta **QueenB**!

Chapter 01: _…Give the Poor Singer a Penny_

Disclaimer:_ This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. I have used many quotes from the authors Terry Pratchett, JD Robb, Lloyd Alexander, MM Kaye, Diana Wynne Jones, Dudley Pope and Douglas Adams in this fic but again, no copyright or trademark infringement is intended._

_Thoughts_

ooOoo

_I'll sing you a song,_

_Though not very long,_

_Yet I think it as pretty as any._

_Put your hand in your purse,_

_You'll never be worse,_

_And give the poor singer a penny._

Ebon slowly opened his eyes and looked around. _So this is what freedom feels like_, he mused. Then a startling thought hit him. _Shouldn't I hurt_? After a jump like that he had to be in some sort of pain, surely.

Ebon looked at himself, searching for some indication of his fifteen-foot jump onto the hard cobbles below the orphanage wall. There was none. Unless, of course, you counted the scratches he had received whilst climbing the ivy vines to get to the top. In any case he was unharmed.

_It's almost like magic_, marvelled Ebon. Quickly he brushed that unwelcome thought away. _There's no such thing as magic… Is there_? Ebon decided to forget about it. It was in the past, along with Cane, Alex and everything else about The Ken Payne Home for Foundlings. He felt a slight pang of regret when he thought of Helen Payne. She had been unceasingly kind to him, but he reasoned that she had always wished him to escape; and now he had. End of matter. He was going to think only about the future, and how he was going to survive out of the orphanage.

Ebon stood up, surveying his surroundings. He wondered how he was going to earn money. Perhaps he could get a job. It couldn't be that difficult. Admittedly he wasn't a very hard worker, but he had a pretty good voice, everyone said so. Maybe he could sing for his supper, like those men and women he could see busking on the footpath. Ebon watched as a man dressed in a suit and tie walked past the musical group and dropped a coin inside the bowler hat they had lying in front of them, for that very purpose. Yes, this could be his work. He would sing, just like the group sitting on the footpath.

ooOoo

Four years later, Severus Snape, Potions Master at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry made his way to the staff room, still running through the ingredients for the Wolfsbane potion inside his head.

Dumbledore had called an emergency staff meeting right in the middle of the very complicated potion and he wasn't going to ruin it just because of a mere crisis.

When he reached the open doorway of the staff room, Severus stepped inside and pulled the door shut behind him. He knew that if there really was an emergency, Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts, wasn't going to want the whole school to know.

As Snape stepped into the room Dumbledore began. "Ah, yes, thank you Severus. Please be seated. Now," He looked around at the rest of the staff. "I'm sure you're all wondering what this is about-"

"The thought had crossed my mind," Snape said irritably.

"Thank you, Severus. It has come to my attention that 'The Boy Who Lived' – Harry Potter – is not where he ought to be!"

"Doesn't surprise me. If he's anything like his father, always believing that all rules were beneath him. Put there for other people. Not-"

"SHUT UP!"

Snape jumped, slid back in his seat and looked around for the source of the bellow. The yell had evidently come from – the usually mild tempered – Remus Lupin, who was on his feet, glaring across the room at Snape, his hands balled into fists at his side. "Don't ever talk about James like that. You never knew him. You never knew James!"

"Sit down Remus, please. We need to organise things like adults, not school children." Dumbledore surveyed the room through his half-moon spectacles and stood up. Towering over his audience he said in a loud voice: "I do not know where Harry has gone. Nor do I know how long he has been gone. It seems rather unfair to blame the boy, Severus, for a fault, which will most likely turn out to be mine. What I do know is that we must find him quickly, and preferably before the school year finishes. Now, does anyone have any suggestions as to how we might achieve this?"

Remus cleared his throat, and pointed out that they should probably search for him. His observation raised a slight chuckle from Dumbledore and the rest of the party (with the exemption of Snape).

"That's all very well Lupin," drawled Snape, "but who's going to do it?_ You're_ incapable, on account of the full moon in a couple of days. Albus certainly can't, he runs this school." (Remus muttered something along the lines of 'No kidding. Do I look stupid or something?') Ignoring this interruption, Snape continued: "Minerva can't; she's got lessons to prepare, and everybody else is busy."

"Except you, I believe, Severus," observed Dumbledore.

"Apart from a Wolfsbane potion... Hang on – you can't mean... I won't. I mean I can't – you can't be _serious_ Albus. I don't even _like_ the boy!"

"How do you know you don't like him Severus? You've never even met Harry," Dumbledore pointed out.

"Well he _is_ a Potter isn't he," the Potions Master quietly observed.

"What was that Severus?"

"What was what?" replied Snape with innocence that didn't suit him

"Hmmm," was Dumbledore's answer. With that, and the ever-present twinkle in his eyes, Dumbledore went on: "It's settled then. Severus will have the task of finding Harry Potter, and bringing him back to Hogwarts."

"Excuse me!" protested Snape desperately. "I've also got lessons to prepare for. In case you've forgotten, I _am_ a Professor at this school. So you see I'm much too busy to go looking for delinquent boys."

"I thought you said only a Wolfsbane potion was keeping you occupied Severus," Dumbledore reminded the Potions Master, that thrice damned twinkle prominent in his steady gaze. "I do believe you've already prepared your lessons. It's very unlike you to keep these things until the last minute."

"He just doesn't want to," said McGonagall primly.

"Oh very well," growled Snape, glaring at the deputy Headmistress.

"The Potter race is doomed," said Lupin, shaking his head in mock despair.

"How on earth did you manage to loose the boy Headmaster?" asked Snape, in a tone that coming from anyone else would have been called grumpy. "Surely you had some form of protection on the boy?"

"I had Arabella Figg watching him," replied Dumbledore. "The Ministry wouldn't allow me to interfere, and as Arabella is a Squib, they would not detect her. She was to contact me if anything seemed amiss, and _only_ then, to avoid suspicion."

"Surely never actually _seeing_ the boy would seem more than simply 'amiss' Albus," Snape answered, exasperated.

"Arabella has been… detained," said Dumbledore, offering the group a very poor explanation.

"For _ten years_?"

"I won't go into that now, Severus. Rest assured the problem is being dealt with."

"What about tracking spells, Albus?" suggested McGonagall.

"Useless," said Dumbledore shortly. "No attempt will work – and believe me I've tried repeatedly. On numerus occasions and in various ways."

"Well, then how am _I _supposed to find the boy?"

"Just look for him I'm afraid, Severus. Only thing for it," answered Dumbledore.

ooOoo

Professor Severus Snape stalked angrily up the path to Number Four Privet Drive. He couldn't believe he'd fallen into Dumbledore's trap. The man had obviously intended Snape to be Potter's retriever from the beginning, and Snape had unwittingly helped him, a slip which was very unlike the Potions Professor. Obviously the mention of 'Potter' had unbalanced him.

Now, Snape was not a man one would usually see anywhere_ near_ nice, clean, _normal _Privet Drive.

Snape would not look out of place in a nightclub: what with his leather pants, baggy cotton shirt and leather jacket (these were the only Muggle clothes Snape could find in the Hogwarts storage cupboards which were a reasonable fit and in a decent colour. Black). Snape, however, had a reasonable excuse to be on Privet Drive. He was trying to discover the whereabouts of one Harry James Potter, insufferable brat that he was. Potter really had no business getting lost and therefore becoming the cause of his – Snape's – rather shortened holiday.

As Snape took in his surroundings, he became more and more disgusted. How could anyone live in such utter _sameness_? Number Four Privet Drive was almost exactly the same as Number Six Privet Drive, which was almost an exact copy of the rest of the street! The only difference Snape could see was the number of flowers in the gardens! If Potter had run away, Snape could certainly see why. The Potions Master would barely last a full ten hours in this cloned neighbourhood, let alone ten_ years_!

When Snape finally reached the wooden front door (which was a slightly different wood to the rest of the street's: varnished oak instead of cedar), he rang the bell and waited on the welcome mat, an impatient expression fixed upon his face. Severus Snape never did anything so uncontrolled as to tap his foot.

After about thirty seconds, the door opened to reveal Vernon Dursley – a big beefy man with almost no neck and thick black hair, matched by a large bushy moustache.

Mr Dursley took one look at the lewdly dressed man and growled: "Wrong house." Before slamming the door in Snape's scowling face. Or at least, Vernon _tried_ to, but this rude gesture was made rather difficult by the booted foot Snape had wedged in the doorframe.

"I've come to inquire about Harry Potter's disappearance," announced a glowering Snape. "You received a letter, explaining why it was you who had the task of raising the Potter boy, did you not?"

Those carefully chosen sentences acted like a rifle shot. Vernon reeled backwards, almost tripping over the rug, his face changing from an indignant red to an unhealthy blotched white colour.

"You... You're one of the-them!" wheezed Mr. Dursley.

"If you mean a wizard, then yes, I am," remarked Snape, with not a little amusement at Vernon's theatrical reaction to discovery of his magical identity.

The knowledge that he was being made fun of by a '_freak_' – the nerve – seemed to help Vernon Dursley recover somewhat, and he managed to stutter out an angry "Go away. We don't want your kind here. Don't come near my family!"

"Please. I take absolutely no pleasure in staying in this cloned street. Believe me," drawled Snape. "I am under orders to find Harry Potter. The boy seems to have been misplaced while he was supposed to be here." His unpleasant smile evolved into a menacing smirk.

"The Ken Payne Home for Foundlings," hissed an intimidated Vernon, after a moment's contemplation. "We gave the boy... away before we read the... letter."

After a long pause, Snape removed the offending foot from the doorframe, and Mr Dursley slammed the door shut, Snape distinctly heard the sound of the fat Muggle hurriedly turning the locks.

"Disgusting things," muttered Snape, as he strode back down Privet Drive. His purpose was now to find a place called The Ken Payne Home for Foundlings.

ooOoo

Six pounds eighty pence. Not bad for a young street urchin, but not good either. Enough for the next meal, at least.

Ten-year-old Ebon scooped up coins he had been counting into the pocket of his worn jeans and sauntered over to the fast-food stall set up on the corner, a slight breeze whipping through his dirty shoulder-length hair. He hadn't eaten since this morning, and his stomach was lying in uncomfortably close proximity to his spine. Ebon waited his turn behind an aggravated-looking man, clothed in black leather pants and a black leather jacket.

When said man stalked over to a nearby empty bench to consume his purchase, a mug of strong black coffee, Ebon was left standing at the front of the line.

"Hello Ebon. What'll it be today?" asked Jenny, the owner of the stall.

"Chicken salad sandwich. No onion," responded Ebon

"Why do I bother to ask?" chuckled Jenny, handing the young street kid the package she had already prepared and stored in her mobile freezer.

"'Cause you hope one day I'll surprise you and order somethin' different," retorted Ebon lazily.

"Not likely. You've been having the same thing every Wednesday for four years!" said Jenny. "Orange juice?"

"Apple. Thanks."

The small lunch cost Ebon two pounds. This was why the street boy had returned to Jenny's stall for the four years since his narrow escape from Cane and his painful cane. He was comfortably familiar with Jenny and her prices, and found he liked them both. The fact that Jenny was the only friend the boy had, also played a small part in the Ebon's unwavering loyalty.

When he received his change, Ebon rewarded Jenny with one of his charming smiles. This smile was one of his trademarks – Ebon retained all his teeth, which were white, healthy and straight. A trait that made him unique in the hard world of homeless urchins, beggars, thieves and buskers in which he survived. Ebon was smart. He realised that if he wished to live past the age of twenty, he must keep healthy – hence the teeth (and the sandwich). Another unique feature was Ebon's sharp wit and great sense of irony which, coupled with his trend for sarcasm, could pass for a good sense of humour.

Looking about for an empty bench, Ebon spotted the one currently supporting the unusual-looking man in the black leather jacket. As this was the only reasonably empty space left – apart from the ground, Ebon ambled over and seated himself next to the man, just as a particularly strong gust of wind blew away the disregarded newspapers and chip packets lying on the pavement. As the gust blew past, it lifted Ebon's crudely cut fringe off his forehead, revealing the lightning-bolt scar, which had marked him ever since the youth could remember.

At that exact moment, the man glanced up.

ooOoo

Fixing his black eyes on Ebon's scar, Snape yelped two words that were to change the unknowing street kid's life forever: "Harry Potter!"

ooOoo

Snape couldn't believe it. After enduring the cloned houses and staring Muggles that was Privet Drive. Wading through the muck, kids and verbal abuse in the hell Muggles like to call The Ken Payne Home for Foundlings and, as a last resort, diligently ploughing through every newspaper he could find printed in the last four years, searching for any sign of the wretched boy: Harry Potter; he had finally found him. Albeit in the last place Snape had a hope of finding anyone he was looking for: the dingy, crowded streets of Muggle London.

Unfortunately, it didn't seem as if Potter was going to co-operate, now Snape had found him, for the irrational street kid was insisting he wasn't Harry Potter. Which of course he was, wasn't he?

"Who's 'Arry Potter?" asked the clueless, and excusably startled, Ebon.

"You are. Who did you think I was addressing, the bench?" queried a noticeably vexed Severus Snape.

"You've got the wrong person Mister. Mayhap it's all that coffee. Name's Ebon Boon, not 'Arry, Potter," replied Ebon cheekily.

"Don't be a fool, you wretched boy. Of course you're H--arry Potter," countered an insulted Snape, drawing out the 'H' sound for the benefit of the slang-using street kid.

"Why?"

This unexpected response startled the Potions Master. Enough for him to blink a few times and stare curiously at Ebon. "What?" he asked, wondering at the logic behind such a strange question.

"Why are ya so certain I'm this H--arry Potter?"

"Because you have that ridiculous scar located on you forehead. Not to mention you look like... like..."

It was then that Snape first realised Ebon looked nothing like his old enemy – James Potter. Actually, there _was_ a resemblance around the mouth, and Ebon _did_ have thick ink-black hair, and his face was also rather thin, but the hair was too long and straight, and no other features looked remotely like those of James Potter's. For the gods' sakes, the boy even had a few freckles, which no Potter had ever possessed.

There was only one sure way of determining the young boy's identity.

"Did you ever live in The Ken Payne Home for Foundlings?" asked Snape. He let the sentence hang in the air, which was very much what Snape was considering doing with Ebon.

"An' what's it ta you if I did?" Ebon replied cautiously, on his guard now that his former prison was mentioned.

"So in other words, yes," replied a smug Snape.

Ebon nodded reluctantly.

This was all the encouragement Snape needed, and he began whispering quickly to Ebon, determined he would be at Hogwarts, tonight, in time for dinner. "Listen to me Potter; we don't have much time, so you're going to have to trust me here. I'm Severus Snape, Potions Professor at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry and-"

"Witchcraft 'n' Wizardry? You're mental!" With that rude comment, the small boy leapt quickly off the bench and made to run back to Jenny's stall, away from this lunatic. However, the Potions Professor was having none of it. He grabbed the back of the street kid's faded shirt in a death-grip and refused to yield to poor Ebon's struggles for freedom.

"Not so fast," Snape hissed. "It's taken me three and a half months to find you and I'll be damned if I lose you now. Hold _still _you wretched boy!" Snape managed to grab Ebon awkwardly around the waist, pinning the street kid against him in a strange parody of a hug, which was surprisingly effective in restraining the boy's arms and upper body. Since he was facing away from Snape, Ebon had difficulty kicking the man. So he yelled instead. Ebon knew what could happen to a youth in the hands of a young man of Snape's size. He just hoped Jenny could hear him.

"JENNY! HELP!" yelled Ebon again. This time his friend heard.

"What are you doing? Get away from him, or I'll call the fuzz(1)!" threatened a livid Jenny, running over to the pair whilst brandishing her frying pan.

"Shit!" Snape swore, not liking the way things were going. The last thing he wanted were the Muggle authorities getting involved. Not knowing what else to do, Snape dissapparated, Ebon still pinned tightly against him.

ooOoo

Snape knew he would pay for his moment of panic. The Ministry would be after his head now, for: 'unauthorised use of magic in a Muggle area', in front of a Muggle no less. Thank the gods only Jenny was paying attention. Or so Snape hoped. Maybe the Ministry would take pity on him, and settle for execution.

"Let me _go_ ya rock-spider(2)!" yelled the small street kid, bringing Snape's attention back to Ebon.

"As you wish," Snape took an unexpected step backward, simultaneously releasing Ebon, who barely managed to save himself from an ungraceful fall onto the street.

"Where are we? What the heck did ya _do_?" shouted Ebon, who was glancing wildly around, looking for any means of escape.

"What I did was dissaperate, and we're in Hogsmeade," replied Snape.

"Thought ya said Hog_warts_," Ebon pointed out. "Even _you_ don' know what you're talking about."

"Hog_warts_ is the school. Hog_smeade _is the village _near_ the school," explained Snape. "Now come on, we might just be in time for lunch." Those words caught the boy's attention, and he ceased his search for an escape route and stared imploringly at his kidnapper.

"Lunch? Ya never said nothing 'bout no lunch. Is it free?" Ebon wanted to know. "Thanks ta you I never ate mine."

"It's free," Snape replied amusedly. He now knew how to control Ebon – his stomach ruled the street-boy.

ooOoo

"This is Hogwarts, British school of Witchcraft and Wizardry," Snape told a staring Ebon "The school year commenced five weeks ago, and I spent most of it scouring the Muggle world for _you_!"

"What's a Muggle?" asked Ebon absently, still gazing in awe at the huge castle towering above him.

"Someone who does not possess magic," explained Snape. "Come on, let's get you home."

"Home," whispered Ebon. Was this man really suggesting this castle was his _home_? _Not likely_, Ebon thought to himself, _I'll loose him once we get inside, lunch or no. I'll fin' somethin' to eat meself. Sure_ _looks big enough, he'll never fin' me_.

ooOoo

(1)Police

(2)Paedophile

A/N: Well, that's the revised Chapter 01… What do you think?


	3. Dance to Your Daddy

PAPA'S LITTLE MOCKING-BIRD

Fanfiction By: **MirrorWakes**

A/N: Thanks to my beta **QueenB** for all her help!

Replies to Reviewers:

**Stella Lee** – I deliberately left that distinction out; he's all 4! I'm getting to the explanation later in the fic though, so Shhhhhh… don't draw attention to it lol. Umm, aren't pounds and shillings gold and silver…? Whoops! I'll have to fix that. Thanks for drawing it to my attention. As for the rest… well, you'll just have to wait and see lol. Thank you for reviewing!

**LyonsRoar** **–** Awwww, thanks. I'm nearly finished 'Chapter 05: _Pop Goes the Weasel!_', so yeah… Actually completing this fic (and its sequels lol) is on my agenda. Thanks for thinking of me!

**Shadowed Rains –** Thanks!

**Hpfreakout** – Thank you.

**americanpie **– Thank you. As I said to **LyonsRoar**: I will prevail!

**Shadowed Rains** – Thank you! And, well, Harry/Ebon _was_ 6… Nevertheless, I revised it. Ebon now has the impossible task of jumping 15 feet. Satisfied? lol

Chapter 02:_ Dance to Your Daddy…_

Disclaimer:_ This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. I have used many quotes from the authors Terry Pratchett, JD Robb, Lloyd Alexander, MM Kaye, Diana Wynne Jones, Dudley Pope and Douglas Adams in this fic but again, no copyright or trademark infringement is intended._

_Thoughts_

ooOoo

_Dance to your daddy,_

_My little laddie,_

_Dance to your daddy,_

_My little lamb._

_That's **it**, enough is enough_, thought Severus Snape, as he impatiently foiled yet another of Potter's desperate attempts at freedom.

The small, undernourished boy was no match for the taller and stronger man. Snape managed to grab his recidivist burden and carry him bodily to the huge stone statue of an extremely ugly gargoyle, like he would a sack of potatoes.

Setting the struggling Ha – oh very well, _Ebon_ down (Snape supposed he'd better humour the brat if he wanted some peace), he muttered the password (Sugar Quills) and waited until the statue sprang aside to reveal a tall spiral staircase which appeared to be moving upwards, rather like a Muggle escalator.

Dragging the small street-kid along behind him by one worn and dirty shirtsleeve, Snape managed to step onto the narrow stairs. Potter seemed to be awestruck, and the Potions Master was able to lead the emerald-eyed youth into the Headmaster's office, plagued only by Ebon's dragging feet. But unfortunately for Snape, the street urchin seemed to make a quick recovery and resumed his glares and struggles with renewed vigour.

When Snape and Ebon entered the circular room at the top of the staircase, they were not alone. Remus Lupin and Minerva McGonagall were seated in two purple overstuffed armchairs, facing the Headmaster.

"Ah Severus. Welcome back. You found Harry, I presume?" greeted Professor Dumbledore, seated behind his desk.

Snape stepped aside to reveal the young boy concealed behind his tall frame. "I have," he confirmed.

"And as usual, just _after_ the nick of time," muttered Lupin, none too quietly.

"Why is _he_ still here? Hasn't he been shot yet?" demanded Professor Snape, eyeing his nemesis with great distaste.

"Now now Severus. You're setting a bad example," Dumbledore scolded, in a voice that suggested he was speaking to one of his pupils. "I thought Mr Filch might appreciate some assistance," he continued, answering Snape's first question.

"Why don't we simply employ Hagrid's mutt? It wouldn't make much of a difference." Snape's tone of voice made clear what his opinion of the situation was – severe dislike.

Remus glared at Snape for a moment, before pointedly moving his attention to Ebon, his sharp gaze taking in the half-starved youth. "My name is Remus Lupin, it's good to see you again Harry."

"Name's Ebon. Pleased to meet ya." The opportunity to annoy his captor was too good to miss.

McGonagall spoke for the first time, giving Snape a glare to rival his own. "Honestly Severus. You've gone and brought us the wrong boy! How on _earth_ did you manage that? For Heaven's sake, he doesn't even _look_ like a Potter!"

Snape scowled at Ebon, who returned the gesture with one of his cheeky, infectious grins.

"I can assure you Minerva, this _is_ Harry Potter. He just doesn't know it yet."

"How intriguing Severus," said Lupin. "I'm sure we would all like to hear of your adventures whilst finding 'The Boy Who Lived'. I can't help but be a little surprised. You see, when last we heard of him, Harry Potter was living with his uncle and aunt at Number Four Privet Drive, and looked almost exactly like his father: James Potter. But you return, three weeks after you were supposed to, with a boy who looks like he is off the streets, bearing no resemblance to James, and calling himself EBON! For the gods sakes Snape, have you lost your _mind_?"

"He_ is_ off the streets, Lupin! But he's got the eyes, the scar, and fits the description given to me by his warden at the orphanage!" snarled Snape, stepping forward to stand almost nose to nose with Lupin, who had sprung to his feet.

"Orphanage? Which orphanage?" questioned McGonagall, rising with Professor Dumbledore to stand by the two perpetual rivals.

"The Ken Payne Home for Foundlings," recited Ebon and Snape in unison, Ebon with a repressed shudder and Snape with a deeper scowl.

"Now that's rather a mouthful," said Dumbledore.

ooOoo

Ebon was watching the four arguing adults with distrust. Well, three to be more precise. Dumbledore seemed to be observing the goings on with barely-suppressed amusement. His few encounters with grown ups had all turned out for the worst, and this one wasn't looking any better. He didn't find it hard to believe that these people were witches. Apart from the examples of magic he had already seen, there were other clues; with the exception of Snape, still dressed in leather, all wore the dress-like garments and stereotypical pointed hats associated with their kind. Besides, he didn't, by the looks of them, think that Snape or McGonagall would have the sense of humour to participate in such an elaborate trick.

As Ebon was assessing the scene, Remus attempted to sum up the situation. "So if he _is_ Harry Potter, which still hasn't been proven, he knows absolutely nothing of us, is most likely illiterate, and doesn't even know his own _name_! This is a right fix."

"Congratulations Lupin. For the first time in your sorry life you've managed to recognise a hopeless case when you see one. It might be kinder to simply hand the boy over to a rich family and let _them_ teach him how to mind his Ps and Qs Albus." Snape folded his arms and raised one arched black eyebrow, daring Dumbledore to contradict.

"I won't argue with that," offered Ebon hopefully. It was an act of self-preservation. He didn't think he'd survive meeting with Snape on a daily basis.

"Nonsense dear boy. Ebon needs someone trustworthy, someone he already knows. He also needs to stay close to the school where he'll be safe. Well, reasonably safe," Dumbledore added, turning to Ebon and winking.

"What? Lupin? Do you think that's wise Headmaster? Didn't you just say you had the boy's safety in mind?" Snape's outburst earned him a look of disapproval from McGonagall and Dumbledore, a frown from Lupin, and a questioning look from Ebon.

"Oh no, Severus. I meant you," Dumbledore answered.

"No. Absolutely NOT!" yelled Ebon, disgusted. He looked over at Snape and saw the Potions Master staring at Dumbledore in astonishment.

"What's the matter?" Snape sneered, recovering quickly from his earlier shock. "This could be the opportunity of a life-time."

Ebon and the others stared at Snape for that uncharacteristic remark.

"What? Er… Why?" asked Ebon. This really didn't fit in with his picture of Snape as a Sadistic Bastard. Ebon usually wasn't far off with a character analysis.

"No boy, you misunderstand me. _We_ are offering _you_, the chance of _having_ a life-time."

Nope. Ebon had Snape summed up perfectly.

Dumbledore spoke to the four assembled in his office: "It's settled, then. Severus will have the task of looking after Harry Potter-"

"Ebon," corrected Ebon.

"Sorry. Ebon, and assisting him with his studies," concluded Dumbledore.

"But Headmaster, I wouldn't have the first clue about how to deal with a child!" pleaded Snape.

"For heavens sake, Severus," snapped McGonagall. "You handle them every day in school!"

"Not on a permanent basis. I _do_ get a break from them," said Snape irritably.

"Well, Severus," began Dumbledore, "I suggest you deal with him as you deal with everyone else: you order him around, and if he argues or doesn't jump fast enough you freeze his blood with one of those vicious scowls you're so good at, and verbally abuse him. It always works so well for you."

ooOoo

Snape had an unpleasant feeling of deja vu as the Headmaster once again thrust the street brat into his charge. Neither he, nor Ebon was thrilled with the situation. Indeed, as far as Snape could make out from the little of Ebon's face visible underneath the grime, the boy was absolutely terrified.

Snape and Ebon descended the spiral staircase, stepping out into the main corridor. Lupin and McGonagall remained behind to discuss their original topic with Dumbledore – the sudden and unexpected rise of Gryffindor potions accidents since Professor Snape had left in pursuit of Harry Potter. Their conversation went as follows: "I can't keep handling all these rogue potions. It's getting really dangerous. Yesterday I tried to clean up a Friction-Less one and very nearly broke my back; of course, Filch won't touch them."

"Well, be thankful you don't have them in class. I had to send the Weasley twins to Madam Pomfrey yesterday because they had swallowed an All Day Hiccup Potion."

"Never heard of it."

"That's because they'd just invented it."

"Even Flitwick has been complaining Albus! He says that ever since the Weasley twins invented that Super-Sticky Toffee, many students have been walking into his class trying to look dignified while un-sticking their jaws. Most of them had to spend the whole lesson answering questions in sign language."

Meanwhile, Snape and Ebon each tried to look as though they had never seen, let alone met the other. A pointless exercise as there was no one around to witness it. Snape thought of it as practice for when they _did_ meet someone.

"You will be staying with me in my quarters. I don't want you getting lost. The blame will fall on me," Snape informed Ebon.

"Gee thanks, Mister. Can't have ya be'n responsible now can we?" Ebon said sarcastically, glancing at Snape out of the corner of his eye.

"My name is not 'Mister'. It is Severus, but you shall call me 'Sir' or failing that, 'Professor'. Understand boy." It wasn't a question. Ebon nodded and shut up.

"Well, maybe you're not quite the idiot I took you for. It appears you _can_ be educated," Snape said, not quite sarcastically. "You shall be sleeping in the spare room. It hasn't been used for a long time, but I dare say it'll be better than anything you're used to."

ooOoo

Ebon suspiciously eyed the room he was supposed to live in. It was certainly true the room hadn't seen a lot of life, though it may have evolved some. Dust-lined chests were lying about everywhere, but at least there was a bed of sorts, which was more luxury than he'd had in a long time. It was a black and gold brass double bed, covered in dust like everything else in the room, but at least it looked stable.

As Ebon was taking in his new haunt, Snape entered the room and stood next to the small boy.

"I won't ask you if you like it, because it's all you're going to get. After you've had a wash, we're going into Hogsmeade to buy you some new outfits."

"Wash? I don't need no wash. I've got by fine without one for four years!" Ebon said, a stubborn expression taking over his face.

"I believe it," said Snape dryly, with an almost amused look. "However now you're here, under my charge, and I require you to wash."

"Not likely!" Ebon shot back.

"Very well. You leave me no choice." With that, Snape once again grabbed Ebon, 'carried' him into the bathroom and threw him (clothes and all) into the bath he had run while Ebon was surveying his new room.

"Now, are you going to scrub yourself? Or do I have to do it for you?"

"Go to hell!" spat Ebon, along with a mouthful of water.

Snape's face broke into what looked like its first real smile in ages, before he shoved Ebon's head under the water.

ooOoo

"Well Ebon, you really _do_ have facial features. Will wonders never cease?" commented Snape, who was now so soaking wet, it looked as if _he'd_ had the bath.

"Go drown yourself in a rain barrel." Was Ebon's reply.

"Rain barrel!" Snape sneered, indicating his soaked clothes. "All I need is to let you loose near water. You'd probably drown a mermaid! Here," he said, throwing Ebon a white towel, "dry yourself off then come into the main room. I'll dry your clothes for you."

"Brilliant. I just love a good hour by the fire," muttered Ebon to himself.

As Ebon dried his face with the cotton bath towel, Snape was ordering lunch from the house elves. "...and Pasta Napoli for myself. Boy, are you done yet? I'd like to dry the towel as well. I've only got two!"

"Why don't ya get some more then?" Ebon asked, in no mood to show sympathy to a man who had just tried to drown him.

"I'll have to won't I?" sighed Snape. "It's a pity I never expected to be sharing my private lodgings with the Wonder of the Wizarding World, or I might have been better prepared."

"The what?" asked a perplexed Ebon, at last stepping into view, still dripping wet despite the towel.

"Never mind. I dare say you'll find out soon enough. I'll put off your swelled head for as long as I can," remarked Snape absently. He was eyeing Ebon critically. There was something awfully familiar about that face. But Lupin was right: Ebon looked absolutely nothing like James Potter.

Ebon's mouth _did_ seem to have a slight Potterness about it. However ink-black, crudely cut, shoulder-length hair framed an angular, pale, high cheek-boned face, quite unlike James Potter's short, messy black hair, sitting like a mop on top of a thin, slightly pointy face. Furthermore, Ebon didn't even have the traditional Potter short-sightedness! _And_ he had a few freckles, which hadn't come from either of his parents. But the eyes, and perhaps the nose were like his mother's. Snape was sure of it. Admittedly, Snape hadn't really paid much attention to the Mudblood girl except that she represented someone to sneer at because of her poor social status.

The more Snape stared at Ebon, the more familiar the boy seemed. But _who_ did Ebon remind him of…?

A sudden realisation hit Snape like a bludger to the stomach. He stared at Ebon's small frame as if seeing the boy for the first time.

Snape had a flash back to a long forgotten stormy night in October… celebrating Halloween with his few friends in the Three Broomsticks... renting a room for the night... leading a young girl who had bright emerald eyes into the room in a drunken haze… she'd been gone by the morning.

"Boy, get over here right now!"

"What 'ave I done _now_?" groaned Ebon, walking over to the taller man and leaving his wet footprints on the Celtic rug.

"Give me your hand," ordered Snape, by way of answer.

Ebon reluctantly did so, probably wondering where _else_ the man would take him. Snape retrieved a small, sharp knife from within his jacket and drew it along his middle finger, then proceeded to do the same to Ebon, who couldn't manage to stifle a slight gasp of surprise. He pressed his cut finger to Ebon's and they both watched the blood mingle, Snape with controlled trepidation and Ebon with fascinated horror. Snape saw a drop of blood fall into the silver goblet he had placed under their hands. Quickly, he fetched a small vial with a slightly purple substance, poured half of it into the goblet, and waited. The swirling liquid turned a bright magenta before fading into a dull yet prominent red.

"SHIT!" swore the Potions Master.

"Wha' was tha' all abou'?" asked Ebon shakily. He stared into the goblet, almost hypnotised by its pure red, sparkling depth.

Snape placed a long finger underneath Ebon's chin. Tilting his face, he looked straight into Ebon's eyes. Emerald met onyx for a long moment.

"Looks like you _do_ have a father," said Severus Snape, matter of factly.

ooOoo

"Look, would someone bleedin' tell me how a splash of blood in an ol' mug, can determine whether or not I'm an orphan?" yelled Ebon. The raised voice was necessary if he wanted to be heard over Snape and Lupin's shouting match. It had been going on ever since Snape had dragged Ebon all the way back to Dumbledore's office.

"Magic," snapped Snape in such a way as to make his unfortunate son believe it should have been obvious.

"Well pardon me for breathing!" Ebon shot back.

"You won't be, unless you keep quiet."

Ebon winced.

"See, that's exactly what I mean!" Lupin declared triumphantly, pointing at Snape, and glaring around at the other occupants of Dumbledore's circular room. "He's not fit to look after a _ferret_, let alone a young boy!"

"Yes, but he _is_ the boy's father, Remus. My opinion-" but McGonagall's opinion was never heard, for Lupin again voiced his.

"And that's another thing. How _did_ you become the boy's father? You were awfully vague on that point."

"Surely we don't have to teach you about the birds and the bees Lupin? This is most surprising. I thought that you and Evans had-"

"Why don't you two sit down, and have a half-way civilised conversation?" Dumbledore cut in hastily. Like any headmaster worth his salt, Dumbledore knew when to intervene.

"Well, what's going to happen to him? Where's the boy staying?" Snape resolutely ignored Dumbledore's comment to voice the questions on everybody's minds.

"Why, in your rooms Severus. Same as before. I don't see why we should make other arrangements now," replied the Headmaster, an infuriating twinkle prominent in his eyes.

"Typical," Ebon muttered vehemently.

"Right. Thank you Albus, Minerva." Ignoring Remus Lupin, Snape once again grabbed Ebon, and all but yanked him out the room.

"Fine Albus. Don't say I didn't warn you when you see the poor boy in the hospital wing recovering from some dreadful '_accident_'!" Lupin's prophecy echoed in Ebon's ears as Snape practically slammed the door closed.

Father and son trouped back to their rooms in the dungeons in uncomfortable silence. Neither knew what to say, and each waited for the other to say what they could not.

ooOoo

When they entered Snape's rooms, Ebon threw himself down on Snape's favourite chair, and stared moodily into the fire. "They didn't even notice that I'd had a wash," he complained bitterly. "What's the use in washing, if no one notices?"

"_I_ notice," volunteered Snape, sending a glare in Ebon's direction in case he dared to misinterpret the words as kindness. "You'll bloody well wash at least once a day, or I'll want to know the reason why!" he added, for good measure.

"But it's unhealthy! Mayhap ya wouldn't be so peaky if ya skipped a few," crowed Ebon, grinning at his newfound relative in thoughtless abandon.

Snape wasn't impressed. "Insolence such as that, will earn you extra chores," he informed his offspring sternly. "So I suggest you think before you speak."

"EXTRA? What? Ya mean I'll 'ave ta _work_?" Ebon exclaimed disgustedly.

"Of course. It's called earning your keep," Snape drawled. "I'll leave a list of things to do on the table every morning, and when I return from teaching, you'll have them completed. Don't worry," Snape added, seeing the curious look on his son's face. "It won't be very extensive. Only three or four."

Snape was astounded when Ebon burst into helpless laughter. This obviously wasn't the reaction he had expected, when the Professor began to hatch the plan on the way back from the Headmaster's office. "What? What's so amusing?" Snape asked suspiciously.

"It's no use leaving me a list," Ebon gasped, "'cause I can't read!"

Snape recovered quickly. After all, he had been expecting something of the sort. "Well that'll be your first chore," _and mine_, he added silently. "You can begin immediately."

"Not by meself! I wouldn't know where ta start," Ebon protested cautiously. He wasn't sure whether to be pleased or not with his scholarly potential.

"Of course not, idiot child, I'll help you. Vacate my chair and fetch me that book. No not that one. That one over there, on the mantle piece. Good, now bring it here." _Right_, thought Snape, _now on top of potions, I have to teach a child to** read**. I can't remember this ever being in the job description_. Snape opened the book at random, and plonked it down in front of the ebony-haired boy. "Do you know anything? Any letters? Any words?" Snape inquired.

"Not on an empty stomach I don't." Ebon stubbornly folded his arms and glared at the Potions Master. _If you show any weakness, they think they can push you around all the more_, he reasoned.

Snape glanced first at their ruined lunch – forgotten in all the excitement – then at the clock and sighed. "Very well. Since the house-elves will be busy with the Great Hall we'll have lunch there." He sighed again in resignation. The students would find out about his embarrassment sooner or later. It might as well be sooner.

"House wha'?" Ebon enquired, wondering if he had heard correctly.

"_Elves_ boy. House-_elves_."

"WICKED! Do ya have flying horses as well?"

"I beg your pardon?" asked Snape sharply, unsure if his son was jesting.

"Never mind," Ebon said, grinning again in anticipation of a square meal. "Can we go find some elves now?"

"Very well." Snape didn't think it was a bright idea to destroy his charge's delusions until he got him into the Great Hall. The Potions Master was not intending to play hide and seek all over the castle tonight.

ooOoo

The Great Hall wasn't exactly what Ebon had been expecting. Admittedly, it would be difficult to describe exactly what he_ had_ been expecting, except that this wasn't it. For example, to the casual observer the ceiling was nonexistent. Only close examination revealed the evidence of its enchantment; the occasional vault peeping through, as if embarrassed to be there.

Another cause for surprise was the students. Ignoring their unusual dress code (pitch black, ankle length robes), they were passably normal; however there wasthe occasional impossible fashion statement. Ebon could have sworn he'd seen more than one girl with a thin glass bangle, flashing several different colours a minute.

"Thought ya said there were elves here," Ebon muttered accusingly to Snape. He was sitting between his father and a lady with flyaway grey hair. Madam Hooch, he recalled. The food was excellent; the street boy knew he'd never tasted anything so delicious before. Unfortunately, it appeared he was expected to use a knife and fork. Ebon had never been one for table manners, and had used cutlery only when it was absolutely necessary, like when Cane had served porridge for breakfast. There was also the added hindrance of his chair; it was much too low. Ebon wasn't enjoying the meal as much as he might.

He was uncomfortable being the target of a thousand students' curious stares. All Ebon's short life, attention had meant trouble. First, at The Ken Payne Home for Foundlings, where it had meant Cane was adding up all of your sins for your punishment on the weekend. Second, on the streets, where people just quickly passed him by (to them, he was just another face on the streets, albeit a little grubbier than usual) – attention made it rather difficult for Ebon to relieve passers-by of their wallets. The street boy was an accomplished pickpocket, and proud of it.

"I lied," his father sneered.

"Aren't ya supposed to be me role model?" Ebon complained bitterly.

"I'll feel very sorry if you turn out like_ him_," cut in Lupin, who was sitting on the other side of Madam Hooch. "I wouldn't wish Snape on my worst enemy."

"I thought he _was_ your worst enemy, Remus," said Madam Hooch.

"Check(1)," acknowledged Lupin.

"Who invited you into this conversation, Lupin?" Snape growled. "Butt out."

"Ebon doesn't mind, do you?" Ebon grinned and shook his head. "Don't you think you should let _your son_ have a say," Lupin argued. Ebon glanced at his father and almost laughed at the furious expression on his face. Annoying Snape was turning out to be fun – as long as he didn't push him too far.

"You keep him out of this," Snape hissed back. He knew exactly what the boy was doing. It wouldn't be long until Ebon learnt how much of a mistake it was, to annoy Snape.

"Ebon, do you want to go flying tomorrow?" Madam Hooch asked hastily.

"Ya can _fly_?" Ebon asked excitedly "Is it a sort o' spell or something?" he continued, looking around at the three adults, nearly bursting with suppressed emotion. His favourite dream had always been flying. Could he dare hope that it might yet come true?

"No, broomsticks," explained Hooch. "We use broomsticks."

"You're kidding? I thought that was only in stories!" Ebon said suspiciously.

"Well we use them too," Snape said.

"You mean I can really fly?" Ebon breathed, not quite believing it could be true. Ebon couldn't remember anything this spectacular ever happening to him before.

"Maybe. Although judging from Snape's past performances on a broom, you might need a little professional assistance," teased Lupin. "I can help you there."

Madam Hooch snorted with mirth, quickly turning her humour into a queer-sounding cough as Snape sent a glare her way.

"If you want to see if he'll fly, push the boy off a cliff," Snape suggested. "He can't sky-lark tomorrow Hooch, I have to teach him his ABCs." He sneered contemptuously.

Lupin hissed through his teeth. "So he _is_ illiterate?"

"It appears so," Snape replied, giving Ebon an unreadable look.

"Well it ain't _my_ fault!" Ebon cried defensively. "It's no' as if I was given a choice!"

"You always have a choice," Snape answered bitingly.

"I could help," offered Lupin quietly. Despite his animosity towards Snape, he felt rather sorry for the man. The gods alone knew what this was putting him through. Lupin also felt for Ebon. He quite liked the young street urchin, and being taught to read by Snape was probably going to traumatise the boy beyond repair. The least he could do was intercede.

"If I ever need help Lupin, I'll be sure to never ask you," Snape promised.

"Don't worry," murmured Hooch to Ebon. "Despite his air of unashamed unpleasantry, he isn't so bad." She grinned as Snape stared angrily at her. Clearly, she had meant for him to hear.

"I'll believe _that_ when I see it," Ebon stage-whispered back, glancing at his father in mock fear.

Snape glowered at him and returned his attention to his food. Two minutes later, Ebon placed his knife and fork on his plate and pushed it away, indicating he had had enough.

"Is that all you're eating?" Snape asked the malnourished boy in astonishment. "The way you were acting, I thought you were about to waste away!"

"Guess I wasn't as hungry as I thought I was," Ebon explained, shrugging nonchalantly. "Besides, I'm used ta much smaller meals."

Snape looked up sharply. This could be the explanation. How could he have been so stupid as to not have thought of the possibility before?

"What meals _are_ you used to?" Severus wanted to know.

Ebon shrugged again and ticked off his weekly meals on one hand. "Apple or orange for breakfast. Blueberry muffin an' glass of milk for lunch every Monday 'n' Sunday. Chicken salad sandwich and a bottle of juice every Wednesday, an' a bit of water a day."

"Is that all?" Lupin asked. "Merlin! The poor boy's half starved!"

Snape kept staring at Ebon, his expression once again unreadable, but it was clear he was thinking hard. Eventually he sighed and stood. Turning towards the solid oak doors of the Great Hall, Snape glanced at Ebon and said: "Come on." Together, the two ebony-haired males left the hall; the students craned their necks to catch a glimpse of the youth their greasy Potions Master seemed to have adopted.

"Why's everyone staring at us?" Ebon asked, as the oak doors of the Great Hall slammed closed behind him.

"I'm sure I don't know," Snape answered, almost smiling at the expression on his young charge's face. Almost.

"Sure, an' I'm a monkey's uncle," Ebon said sarcastically.

"I'll thank you not to bring your family into this," Snape jested.

"Why Sir!" said Ebon in mock astonishment. "I do believe that was a joke!"

"Believe what you will," Snape told him.

"Fine with me," the younger boy replied.

ooOoo

The Hospital Wing was empty, as befitted the superior skills of its mistress. Even so, Severus thought he could draw an accurate map of every crack in the ceiling. He had woken up to it more times then he could wish to remember, thanks to four Gryffindor boys.

"Severus," greeted the school nurse, Madam Pomfrey, "what have you done to yourself this time?"

"It's not me this time, Poppy. This boy, my _charge_, seems to have starved himself over the last four years," explained Snape, indicating his small companion with a casual flick of his long-fingered hand.

"_Starved_! Over the past four _years_? But Severus, he doesn't even look old enough to be a _first_ year!" said a distressed Poppy Pomfrey, looking from Snape to Ebon and back again.

"That's because he's only ten," Snape explained. "He's been living off the streets for those four years."

Madam Pomfrey's disbelieving look melted into one of sympathy as she looked the undernourished street boy up and down. Ebon's oversized, faded shirt couldn't quite manage to hide his too skinny frame. Madam Pomfrey's sympathy quickly changed to suspicion as she turned her attention back to the sulky looking Potions Master. "Severus, exactly how did you come to be looking after a ten-year-old street boy?" she asked.

Snape expelled a long-suffering sigh and rolled his dark eyes at Madam Pomfrey. "Believe it or not, this 'street boy', is actually the great Harry Potter."

"No I'm not!" reproached Ebon. "I'm Ebon. I don' even know who 'Harry' _is_."

"He's also my son," Snape explained. "Who insists his name is Ebon."

"Well it _is_," growled Ebon.

"Good heavens!" exclaimed Madam Pomfrey. "_How_ Severus?"

"Oh not you too," groaned Snape quietly.

"Pardon?" asked Madam Pomfrey.

"Never mind. A one night fling with Lily Evans and, I suspect, a rather powerful glamour," Snape replied, glancing at Ebon out of the corner of one black eye.

"Severus!" reproached a shocked Madam Pomfrey; she too glanced warily at the young street kid.

"Oh don't mind me," Ebon said casually. "I 'ear of this sor' of thing all the time." This admission only earned him a scandalised look from the poor nurse. "Well, maybe not glammers," Ebon continued, upon reflection.

"_Glamour_. It's a charm used to change your appearance. Rather like a mask, only it _truly_ changes your face, until it's taken off that is," the tall Potions Master revealed.

"Weird," Ebon commented.

"Indeed."

"Well," Madam Pomfrey huffed, "this certainly _is_ unusual."

"Why must people always state the obvious?" Snape asked nobody in particular.

"Don' know," Ebon shrugged. "Why are ya always sarcastic?"

"Don't try to be smart," Severus suggested. "I doubt you'll ever succeed."

"Severus!" reproached Madam Pomfrey once again.

"Very well Poppy," Snape conceded. "Will you please just tell me what I'm supposed to do about this starving child?"

"Yes of course," Madam Pomfrey said, she then launched into a list of various diets and foods Snape might consider feeding the 'starving child'. Ebon wasn't so sure about some of the suggestions put forward.

"_Lady's Smock_(2)?" he half gasped, half shouted. "It sounds positively horrible!"

"Wait until you've tried it," Snape muttered.

"Great," said the scowling young boy.

"Now, was that all you wanted Severus?" asked Madam Pomfrey.

"Quite," Snape confirmed. "We'll be off then. Thank you, Poppy. Come along, boy," ordered Snape.

"Yes Master," mocked Ebon. Snape simply scowled at him, then seized his upper arm and pulled him out the door.

Madam Pomfrey watched them go with a slight smile on her kind, slightly older than middle-aged face, and shook her head at Ebon and Severus' displays of not quite affection.

ooOoo

"Ouch! Why do ya 'ave ta 'old me so hard?" complained Ebon.

"Because I refuse to waste my time and effort looking for you if and when you run away," Snape replied dryly.

"Alrigh', ALRIGH'!" Ebon growled. "I won't try an' get away. Yet," he added under his breath. "Jus' let go of me arm," he winced.

Snape gasped in feigned astonishment. "Oh, so there_ is_ honour among thieves?" he half joked.

"Now what would ya mean by that?" Ebon asked innocently.

"My gold cauldron has mysteriously disappeared out of my rooms," Snape explained. "I noticed just before we left my chambers."

"Wha' makes ya think I know anythin' 'bout it?"

"Call it a hunch," Snape raised an eyebrow at his scowling offspring. "Now kindly return it, before I think up something particularly unpleasant to inflict upon you. That cauldron is rather essential for some of my more delicate brews."

Defeated, Ebon put his hands behind his back and brought them out again, this time holding a two-inch-sized golden cauldron. "I don' know how ya supposed ta mix anything in this," Ebon confided. "Ya sure it's not jus' for decoration?"

"Wait until we are in my rooms, and I'll demonstrate," Snape promised. "Where on earth were you hiding it anyway? It's too big and angular not to be seen in a pocket, even a hidden one."

"Tricks of the trade," Ebon grinned.

ooOoo

When they returned to Snape's chambers, Ebon once again flopped down on Snape's favourite chair. Snape scowled at the boy and unceremoniously shoved him off. Ebon promptly sat on Snape's feet and leaned back against his legs, having previously observed his father's habit of crossing the limbs whilst seated.

"Off you," Snape ordered. Ebon continued to grin up at him, not budging an inch. Snape narrowed his eyes and kicked, hard, sending his unfortunate son tumbling away.

"Bloody hell!" the boy growled, gingerly rubbing his upper arm.

"I suggest you never attempt to be employed as a foot warmer, you're too angular for the job, rather uncomfortable."

"Fine," clipped Ebon and attempted to seem indignant, failing miserably, for indignity was quite foreign to the young boy. Usually, he felt scared or angry, so Ebon's lack of practice with this particular facial expression showed readily.

Snape tried unsuccessfully to conceal a smile behind his hand. Ebon glared at him. Snape was rather disconcerted to recognise his own expression on his offspring's features. _I suppose I'll have to get used to that_, he mused.

"What?" demanded the younger Snape.

"Nothing," amended the elder. "We'll start your literacy lessons after lunch tomorrow. For now we'll just shovel the dust out of your room, so I might finally have a well deserved good night's rest, without missing brats to haunt my dreams."

"Righ'. First show me wha' this's for," stalled Ebon, holding out the tiny cauldron in one small, long-fingered hand. It was clear to Snape that work did not appeal to his boisterous son at all.

"Very well," agreed Snape. He held out a hand for Ebon to place the golden ornament in. Tapping the cauldron with his wand, Snape muttered a word Ebon couldn't decipher. The street urchin watched in amazement as the once inch-sized golden ornament expanded into a cauldron straight out of the storybooks.

"Flamin' heck," breathed Ebon. "Could I learn to do that?" he implored his keeper.

"If you study hard enough, and don't turn out to be a complete idiot or squib."

"A what?" inquired a confused Ebon. His policy was that if he was going to be insulted, he'd like to know what the insult actually meant.

"Never mind," Snape sighed. "That's a lesson for another time. Now let's see to your room, shall we?" He was extremely amused to see his small charge resign himself to what he thought was a good three hours worth of gruelling work.

ooOoo

(1)Touché (good call).

(2)Lady's Smock – Good for scurvy. It provokes the urine, breaks the stone and effectually warms a cold and weak stomach, restores lost appetite and helps digestion. – _Culpeper's Colour Herbal_

A/N: Hmmm… I logged in for a 3-day period, but apparently 3 days in ff.n's world means just 24 hours… Oh, and it seems I've somehow managed to put _myself_ on AuthorAlert! Very odd…

Will someone please enlighten me as to the UK's school timetable? In NSW Australia, we have 6 weeks off in December-January, usually beginning a week before the 25th, and 2 weeks off at the end of every term (each term goes for about 10 weeks). I'd also appreciate it if someone explained England's currency (before the Euro) to me. In Australia we use Dollars and cents; 50c plus 50c equals $1 and so forth, but I think the English way was (is?) a little more complicated…

Anyway, please review. I'd love to know what you think.


	4. Bridle the Dog

PAPA'S LITTLE MOCKING-BIRD

Fanfiction By: **MirrorWakes**

A/N: Thanks to my wonderful beta **QueenB**. Once again a _BIG_ thank you to everyone who reviewed and answered my questions… and to all those who simply reviewed. They really do help me write, especially the ones asking questions or making observations – those show people are _thinking_ about what I write and, hopefully, enjoying it.

Well, I feel like a real idiot now '…England's currency (before the Euro)…' Umm. Yeah… Right. You know the saddest thing? I've actually _been_ to England, and not so long ago either! Next time, I'll pay more attention!

Replies to Reviewers:

**Katie-Catherine** – Thank you so much! Yes, it did help. It helped a lot!

**twighlightshadow – **Thank you. Yes, I know. I was simply saying that 'Check' _meant_ 'touché'. It's like saying 'your comeback was too much for me. I can't think of a retort.'

**hotdogfish** – Whoops (points to author's note)! Thanks for reviewing.

**Black Shadow Stalker** – Thank you very much. You've helped clarify things a little lol.

**Hazel Maraa** – So it's not just me? Thanks! lol.

**Heather** – Thank you. You'll just have to wait and see…

**scardi – **I plan on making it lengthy… not as lengthy as its sequels though (that was a not-so-subtle hint lol). I didn't go into detail on purpose. Some of it's irrelevant, and some is crucial to the plot later on, and therefore will be explained (or clarified) when, and if, needed. I want to get to the 'real' plot of the story as soon as possible, and that means sacrificing a little detail. Thank you for reviewing!

**HecateDeMort** – Thank you very much!

**Shadowed Rains** – Thanks heaps! I always look forward to reading your reviews – they're always very lengthy (and flattering lol).

Chapter 03: …_Bridle the Dog_

Disclaimer:_ This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. I have used many quotes from the authors Terry Pratchett, JD Robb, Lloyd Alexander, MM Kaye, Diana Wynne Jones, Dudley Pope and Douglas Adams in this fic but again, no copyright or trademark infringement is intended._

_Thoughts_

ooOoo

_Hey, diddle dout,_

_My candle's out,_

_My little maid's not at home;_

_Saddle the hog, bridle the dog,_

_And fetch my little maid home. _

"AAAACHOOOO!"

"Bless you."

"Thanks a lot," sniffed an extremely dusty and grumpy Ebon. He and Snape had spent the half hour since their conversation cleaning the spare room Ebon would be forced to live in. It had been quite a job and still wasn't finished. Even with Snape's magical abilities it was slow work, especially as Ebon had to use a rag and bucket for his share in the labour.

"Well this _is_ your room," Snape pointed out.

"Ha! Some room. The air in 'ere's seen more life than I 'ave. I migh' wake up one nigh' ta find some 'orrible, slimy _things_ crawlin' all over me."

Ignoring his complaining companion, Snape recited another banishing charm and smirked in satisfaction as one more dusty corner was magically cleaned.

Ebon watched jealously, until a strange thought occurred to him: "Where's it all go?" Ebon questioned.

"All what?"

"The dust. It 'as ta go somewhere don't it?" reasoned the once more dirty street kid.

"That's one of the many mysteries of magic," Snape answered. "Listen brat," he continued "if you don't learn to speak correctly, I promise you I shall tie that bloody tongue of yours into a very tight knot."

Ebon bought one small, filthy hand protectively to his mouth, and glared in what he hoped was an intimidating way at the much taller man. "I can't 'elp it, It's 'ow I've always spoke."

Snape shut his eyes as if in pain and took several deep, calming breaths. "Well it mightn't be so bad if you just used one tongue," he conceded, obviously making an effort not to carry out his previous threat. "But you're speaking in every kind of slang I've ever heard, from all corners of London – and quite a few that I haven't – all in the one sentence. It has become simply infuriating!"

"Well it ain't _my_ fault," Ebon cried. "I've _been_ ta all the corners of London, 'an I bet ya 'aven't even dreamed 'ow many there actually are."

"Well be that as it may, while you're living with me I require you to learn to speak correctly. Very quickly."

"Wha', that _and_ learn ta read? Ya must be joking."

"It may well come _with_ the reading."

"Great."

ooOoo

"Finally!" moaned Ebon. Evidently forty-five minutes of scrubbing wasn't his favourite pastime, mused Snape.

"I'm thirsty again," complained Ebon bitterly. "Ya see, this is wha' manual labour does ta me."

Snape raised one arched, black eyebrow, looking almost amused. "Congratulations boy, you said a big word. Tell me, did it hurt?"

"Don' call me 'boy'," growled Ebon. "Tell ya wha', I'll try an' speak proper, if _you_ call me by me proper name."

"Is that a bribe?"

"Could be."

"Fine."

"But ya 'ave ta get me a drink as well," added Ebon.

"Ah. I see. Very well, we'll go to the Hog's Head. It's probably exactly your sort of place."

ooOoo

Snape was beginning to regret his decision to bring his next of kin to the seedy pub. In the four years since he had last darkened their small doorway, he had forgotten exactly what sort of people (the term 'people' might be severely stretched to describe some of the pub's more interesting inhabitants) the Hog's Head habitually entertained.

Severely and, as it turned out, foolishly down-playing the somewhat questionable ethics of the regular clientele, Snape had thought the Hog's Head an amusing place to take his offspring for a refreshing drink. Unfortunately, the bar hadn't changed much in his absence.

_I have **got** to get out more_, thought Snape as he resignedly surveyed the stingy, dirty atmosphere of the very questionable drinking hole on the outskirts of Hogsmede. Turning around to inform Ebon they were leaving to find a more desirable place to dwell, Snape was just in time to glimpse his ward threading expertly through the crowd and toward the grimy bar and its surly bartender.

"No boy. Back here _now_," whispered Snape furiously. Ebon simply ignored his father and swaggered up to the stool closest to the barman, who was currently leaning against the bar and sampling one of his drinks. Snape growled inaudibly and marched over to the street boy to stand imposingly behind him.

Ebon grinned cheekily at the burly man in front of him. "Scotch an' lemon please. 'Old the scotch," he ordered. The barman, who either didn't share Ebon's sense of humour or was too thick to follow, simply glared at the ten-year-old boy and sipped his drink. Glancing up, he caught sight of Snape and redirected his glare toward the older man.

"Is this yours?" he asked, pointing at Ebon. Glaring down his nose at the young boy the barman sniffed disdainfully. "Looks like gutter rot," he observed.

The younger boy's grin, which had been gradually fading, disappeared completely; leaving behind a closed, guarded expression which looked – in Snape's opinion – entirely too old for such a young face.

"Well, you heard the boy, fetch him his drink," demanded Snape. Placing his hand casually on his ward's shoulder, the Potions Professor rivalled the other man's sneer with one of his own first-year-student-terrifying versions. The barman, quickly weighing the odds, wisely concluded they weren't in his favour and, putting down his own beverage, he hurried away to fetch Ebon's.

"You get a lot of that?" enquired Snape.

"Yeah," confirmed Ebon. He was mortified to find himself embarrassed at being brushed off in front of Snape. Hadn't he suffered enough of that kind of treatment by now to be used to it?

The bartender plonked a grimy glass, its contents the unfortunate colour of fresh urine, in front of Ebon; spilling part of its contents all over the boy's shirt and, with a parting sneer, lumbered off to serve another thirsty customer.

"Nice to meet you too," muttered Ebon sarcastically. He eyed his 'refreshment' dubiously.

"People like that make you glad to be a teacher," said Snape.

"Surly _nothin_' can be _that_ bad?" grinned Ebon, taking a sip of his yellow beverage, choking, and spitting it back out.

"Something wrong? It's not poisoned is it?" asked Snape, only half joking.

"No. I don't know. Place like this, ya can't be too careful."

"Here," said Snape "Let me have a taste."

"'T's your funeral," warned the street urchin.

Snape took a tentative sip of the offending drink and made a face. "I don't believe this," he growled, slamming down the glass in much the same manner as the rude barman.

"Wha'? It ain't _really_ poisoned is it?" asked Ebon, becoming seriously worried.

"Might as well be. It is, quite literally, lemon. Why that piss-faced son of a-" Snap caught himself before he could complete the questionable sentience, but Ebon got the general idea.

"Now wha'?" demanded Ebon, trying to hide his amusement. "Do we get ta bash up the bouncer?" Snape shot Ebon a warning glare before sighing and shaking his head.

"We're not just gonna sit 'ere an' do nothin' are we?" asked Ebon, eyes widening in disbelief.

"No," corrected Snape. "We'll wait and plan revenge, very carefully. Strike when he least expects it."

"Well I don't think so. He migh' keel over from the fumes in 'ere at any moment. I'm a boy of opportunity," and so saying, Ebon picked up the sour liquid and poured the lot of it into the barman's browner beverage.

"My, my. You _are_ full of surprises," said Snape, raising an eyebrow at his son's delinquent behaviour. "Maybe we should go before the man discovers your little practical joke."

Ebon agreed whole-heartedly.

As they were leaving the seedy pub, Ebon caught sight of the barman. He was standing in front of the stool they had just vacated and was sneering unpleasantly at their retreating forms. Ebon waved cheerfully and called: "Thanks for the drink." He had just enough time to witness the bartender's sneer morph into a puzzled frown before Snape pulled him out through the undersized door.

ooOoo

"There many like him 'round?" panted Ebon. It was proving difficult to keep up with Snape's long strides, even though Ebon had grown up running from, dodging and generally not getting caught by those who were older and bigger than he was.

"Too many," warned Snape curtly. Not once did the Potions Master falter or pause in consideration of his son's predicament.

"Anything wrong?" wondered Ebon, abandoning his pride and jogging to catch up to his long-legged sire.

"No. Yes. Yes!" Snape shouted suddenly, whirling on his hapless ward with enough force in his expression to have Ebon stumble backward one or two steps. "You deliberately disobeyed me back there!" Snape jabbed his finger in the general direction of the Hog's Head, causing the few passers-by to stare at the odd pair. "I'll not have it. Not from my own flesh and blood! It seems to me that you have no sense of discipline whatsoever. I _told_ you to wait, and what did you do...?" Snape ranted on in this manner for a couple of minutes, Ebon only managing to squeeze in the occasional "Yes but..." or "No I..." while feeling bewildered at Severus' abrupt change of mood.

"Aw, go drown yaself in a rain-barrel!" exploded Ebon finally.

The ten-year-old was thoroughly sick of the whole situation: his abduction in front of Jenny's stall. The

constant argument regarding his name. His newfound relative. Being forced to participate in hard, tiring labour. The business at the Hog's Head. And now this: a torrent of verbal abuse from a man he barely knew, and through some twist of fate, turned out to be his father. A man Ebon had previously thought non-existent. Ebon had lived the whole of his short life without the aid of a parental figure and in the street boy's view, the discovery of one changed nothing except his social status. The hope that someone might finally be willing to listen to _his_ – Ebon's – side of an argument had crossed his mind, but had just as quickly been abandoned in the wake of the older man's previously undiscovered personality quirk.

Snape was stunned into silence for barely a second, but it was enough. Ebon had gone.

ooOoo

_Damn. He's not here either._

Severus Snape had been searching for his fugitive offspring for just over two and a half hours. The young man had absolutely no idea of where his son could possibly have gone, but Snape wasn't about to admit defeat. He had no wish to face Dumbledore, McGonagall or (especially) Lupin without the child.

The Potions Master was experiencing an unwelcome feeling of deja vu. It could well have been this morning, when Snape had despaired of scouring the whole of London for Harry Potter: his unknowing and unknown son. The Professor prayed to any deities who were bothering to listen that his good fortune would hold, and he would find the lad again.

Apparently, no one was listening, because Severus saw no snub nosed, freckled, emerald-eyed faces passing him by on the streets of Hogsmeade.

_How could he have run away so quickly, and hidden so effectively_? Snape wondered. As if in answer, he saw a group of children sprint by him, laughing and yelling to each other before disappearing into the crowd. Snape scowled to himself and continued to search for his lost boy.

ooOoo

Ebon scowled to himself and wondered how on earth it was possible to get lost, even if you had nowhere to go and nowhere to come back to. The philosophy of it eluded the young boy, but that is exactly what he had achieved. Ebon was hopelessly lost and beginning to regret his impetuosity.

Suddenly Ebon heard a terrified yowl, and a greyish streak dashed toward him – tripping the light street boy over – followed by a furious roar: "AND DON'T YOU _DARE_ COME NEAR MY STORE AGAIN!"

Ebon stared down at the grey and black kitten cowering in the shelter of his lap.

"What'd ya do?" enquired Ebon. The cat responded with a pitiful meow. It was very thin. Almost, but not quite, starving. Evidently, the cat had no more luck than Ebon in finding his meals. Perhaps this is what had led it into strife.

Ebon had never taken much notice of animals, but he felt a stirring of pity and kinship for this feline. "Ya don' have anyone?" Ebon asked his unexpected companion. Once again, the cat meowed.

"Nah. Neither do I. What's ya name?" The youth felt a little foolish to be speaking to a cat, but reasoned that in the world of magic, anything was possible, even talking cats. The kitten simply stared at him with two wide, golden eyes. _Okay, so the cats **Can'** talk_, discovered Ebon. _Which means tha' I get ta name it._ Ebon studied the feline and decided upon a suitable title.

"'Ow 'bout Soot?" Ebon asked the cat, who responded with another meow.

"I'll take tha' as a 'yes' then," grinned Ebon as he lifted the newly christened Soot onto his shoulder and strode away.

"Ya know it'd be jus' me luck if ya 'ad fleas," Ebon addressed Soot pessimistically, and promptly collided full on with a tall white-blonde boy walking in the opposite direction. Once again, he was knocked down, this time twisting his ankle.

"Ow! Hey, watch it you!" ordered a haughty voice, coming from the other boy.

"Sorry, wasn't payin' attention," apologised Ebon. Wincing, he tried to stand, while the other boy watched in silence.

"A little 'elp 'ere would be nice," Ebon hinted.

Looking surprised at having been addressed in such a manner, the blonde boy seemed to have an inner debate before, finally, reaching a satisfactory conclusion. Bending slightly, he offered his hand to Ebon who, after a moment's pause to gather Soot up into one arm, grasped it firmly and was hauled to his feet, favouring his injured ankle slightly. The other boy stared at the street urchin. "You're rather light," he informed him.

"You're rather rude," countered Ebon.

The other boy blinked in surprise, looking as if he didn't know how to handle this strange, ebony-haired boy. Unexpectedly, the blonde boy smiled. "I like you," he decided aloud.

"That's nice," said Ebon sarcastically. He wasn't sure if he _wanted_ to be liked by this strange, well speaking

boy. He didn't even know the new comer's name, or his age, and after Ebon's past experience with strangers belonging to the Wizarding world, he half expected the blonde boy to turn out to be his cousin, or brother (which, thankfully, seemed unlikely, given the boy's pointy face, hair colour and grey eyes).

The taller boy smirked and offered his hand anew. "The name's Malfoy. Draco Malfoy, but you can call me Draco." The boy announced this last bit as if it were a major privilege.

"So, what's your name?" Draco asked.

"Ebon," replied the street boy simply.

"Ebon...?"

"I don' know! Boon. Snape. Potter. You tell me!" Ebon shot back angrily.

"What?" yelped a startled Draco Malfoy.

"Never mind," sighed Ebon.

ooOoo

"Lucius!" called Snape in apparent relief. "Lucius, a moment of your time, if you please."

"Of course Severus. How may I help," enquired Lucius Malfoy.

"You haven't seen a young boy have you, about so tall." Snape held out his hand, palm down, around waist level. "Green eyes, shoulder length black hair, freckles across his nose?"

"No. I do apologise Severus, I'm afraid I've been rather preoccupied, searching for my son," declared Lucius dryly.

"What a coincidence," muttered the Potions Master.

Lucius looked at Severus with an unreadable expression. "I see," was all he said.

"Perhaps we can help each other," suggested Snape, with an eyebrow raised in question.

"Perhaps."

ooOoo

"So you're _actually_ Harry Potter?" asked Draco Malfoy.

"No. I'm _actually_ Ebon. Ebon Snape I suppose. Not that it matters."

"Merlin," breathed Draco, impressed despite himself at the drama of his newfound companion's life. "So you were on the streets, for four years, until you were rescued-"

"Kidnapped," interrupted Ebon with a scowl.

"Rescued," repeated the blonde boy stubbornly, "by the Hogwarts' Potions Master – who, after slicing into you with his knife, and using your blood in some unknown potion, determines himself to be your father. Who would have thought; Severus Snape can reproduce. He must be human after all. Well, at least partially," the silver-eyed boy added, grinning lazily at Ebon across the step they were sitting on, which belonged to 'Coven's Page: A Book For All Your Needs'.

"Wha', ya know him do ya?" asked Ebon, startled.

"Yes. He's an on and off friend of father's," explained Draco. Leaning back into the porch of the bookshop, he encircled his arms loosely around his knees and watched the emerald-eyed boy with his own cool silver. Smiling a little, Draco continued: "Do you realise that for a while there you were speaking properly, and your accent might have passed as middle class? Until you became agitated that is, then you went right back to street talk."

Ebon listened to this interesting observation with a thoughtful face. "So your sayin' I can speak proper until I become excited, or until I try ta," he added with a wry grin.

"Something along those lines," drawled Draco.

"The Professor should be pleased," said Ebon. "So, what are ya doin' 'ere?" he enquired of the other boy.

"I can't seem to find my father," explained Draco, feeling embarrassed. However, when Ebon started laughing, Draco saw the funny side of the situation and had to join in.

"Perhaps we can help each other," suggested the smaller boy, flashing a mischievous grin. Ebon decided, quite unexpectedly, that he _did_ want to be liked by his companion of chance. Ebon wanted a friend, like Jenny, but someone his own age. Someone he could laugh with, talk with, run around with, and who would care whether he lived or died.

"Perhaps," agreed Draco. "You said you ran away? From the orphanage I mean," he continued. "Why?"

Ebon turned away slightly, and fixed his gaze on Soot, who was purring contentedly in his lap. Draco was deprived of the look in Ebon's eyes as the other boy's long, dark lashes swooped down to conceal the two emerald-green orbs.

"I got bored," declared Ebon, in a slightly too cheerful voice.

"Oh," said Draco, and left it at that.

ooOoo

"Severus I can't imagine where they could have gotten – _there_ they are," exclaimed Lucius Malfoy, pointing to the two boys seated in front of the bookshop. "Would you look at that? Apparently_ my_ boy found_ yours_. Well how's that for a coincidence?"

"There seems to be quite a few of them lately," murmured Snape to himself.

The Potions Master would suffer the torture of the damned, before he would admit to anyone his profound relief at discovering his newfound son safe and, from all indication, unharmed. The two boys appeared to be having a conversation. After a moment, the blonde one – Draco, Snape remembered – looked up – perhaps he had heard Lucius' yell – and caught sight of the two adults.

"Father!" yelled Draco, leaping to his feet and waving wildly above his head, "Look Eb, your's is here too."

"Yeah," sighed Ebon. "Hi."

Snape narrowed his eyes at his runaway son, and folded his arms in a forbidding fashion, glaring formidably. "What do you have to say for yourself boy, hmmm?" he demanded.

"Nothing," sneered Ebon, unconsciously mirroring his sire's posture and glaring right back.

Lucius sighed almost theatrically and said: "I bet you two could continue that for the rest of the week, but now is not the time. Draco, why don't you introduce me to your new companion?"

"Very well. Father, this is Ebon Boon. Ebon, this is Father," said Draco as Snape snorted.

"Boon?" Lucius asked in surprise.

"From the orphanage," Ebon explained.

"Pleasure," nodded Mister Malfoy, apparently accepting Ebon's justification for his unusual choice of surname.

"Hey, I know. Why don't we all go have a drink at the Three Broomsticks?" suggested the younger Malfoy.

"Yeah. We can exchange battle tales," muttered Ebon sarcastically. This was turning out to be one hell of a day.

ooOoo

_Butter Beer_, thought Ebon, staring broodingly into a yellow liquid that was much too familiar. _Sounds like a sort of 'home brew'. Oh well, can't be any worse than what I've already suffered through_. Ebon sipped the golden beverage and was pleasantly surprised. _Not too bad_. "Could be a little warmer," he mused out loud.

"Well then drink it sooner, and don't sit there staring at the bloody glass as if it were some sort of previously untested potion," suggested Snape.

"Well it _is_," Ebon pointed out.

"Yes, all right, point taken," growled the Potions Master.

"Ebon, come look at this," called Draco, from the other side of the pub where he had been examining a rather interesting structure apparently engineered of wood, metal and, oddly, parchment and wool.

Ebon excused himself, trying (unsuccessfully) to hide his relief at the timely interruption. He sauntered over in the direction of his new friend and joined Draco in his speculation of what the unusual form was supposed to resemble.

"Odd child," mused Lucius after Ebon had moved out of hearing. "How on earth did you end up with a heir like that?"

"It's a long and embarrassing tale, which I shan't tell any time soon."

Lucius looked at Snape and scowled thoughtfully. "Get rid of him," Lucius advised with conviction. "You can send him off to a distant relative and never think of the boy again." The elder Malfoy stared hard at his companion, but if he was trying to gauge Snape's reaction, Lucius was disappointed, for the elder Snape gave no indication of feeling appalled or otherwise.

"I can't," said Snape at last. "Ebon is also 'The Damn Boy Who Lived'."

"He's Harry Potter?" exclaimed Lucius quietly.

"Yes, but that's another story I won't be going into. Not here," said Snape, indicating their surroundings with one long-fingered hand.

"My, my Severus, what will your father say?" queried Lucius, raising an eyebrow inquisitively.

"Nothing," Snape growled, "because I won't be telling him."

"Do you really think you could keep _this_ from him?"

"I'm going to damn well try!"

"Very well. Then you must accompany me back to Malfoy Manor, and reveal your tactics," suggested Lucius.

"May as well. Looks like Ebon has made a lasting impression upon your son," observed Snape, changing the topic. "Who would have thought?"

"Indeed," agreed the blonde-headed man. "Perhaps the boys can amuse themselves reading a few books. Use their free time usefully and all that."

"Yes, well, unfortunately Ebon has a slight problem with his spelling. You see, most people forget to cross their T's and dot their I's. My offspring forgets to put them in."

"Excuse me?"

Snape sighed and leaned back in his chair. "He's illiterate," explained Snape patiently.

"Good gods Severus! What _else_ is wrong with the boy?"

"He's illiterate Lucius, not diseased," snapped Severus defensively.

"Yes well, it just about amounts to the same thing doesn't it?"

"Does it?" asked Snape, eyebrow raised.

ooOoo

"It _could_ be a giant spider," said Draco doubtfully. "With twelve legs and six tentacles. Or it _might_ be an octopus, with a severe birth defect."

"Does it have ta be _anything_?" asked Ebon uncertainly.

"Of course it does," retorted Draco scornfully. "It's art, and art always has to mean... _something_." The blonde haired boy faltered slightly and analysed the dubious construction in front of him. Despite his informed speech, Draco wasn't quite sure the normal rules applied here, but he was determined to try and force them to if need be.

"You just have to use your imagination a little," suggested Draco. "Well, a lot," he amended, gazing once more at the 'thing'.

"_Right_," said Ebon. "Well, I suppose it could be an... um... bush?" He proposed tentatively.

"Could be," agreed Draco. "You can sort of believe it's a plant, if you turn your head sideways and squint a bit."

"Yeah. Maybe it's a-" Ebon was interrupted by Snape calling them. The two older men, deciding to leave, were becoming quite impatient with their lingering offspring.

"Damn," swore Draco. "Oh well, at least we can... Madam Rosmerta!" yelled Draco, trying to gain the attention of the woman who owned the Three Broomsticks, startling Ebon and causing a few customers to look around curiously.

"Mister Malfoy what are you yelling about?" enquired Madam Rosmerta from behind the bar.

"That statue," said Draco, indicating the offending piece. "What is it supposed to _be_?"

"A rose," answered Madam Rosmerta testily.

"A rose!" said Ebon and Draco in unison.

"Yes, a friend made it for me. Now be off, both of you. Quickly now," the barkeeper ordered.

"I was almost right," Ebon whispered, looking slightly amused by the whole situation.

"You thought it was a _bush_," Draco reminded him.

"Yes but a bush isn't that big a leap from a _rose_ bush," retorted Ebon smugly as he bent down to retrieve Soot.

"Shut up," growled Draco. "You know," he mused, glancing once again at the 'rose' sculpture. "If one of _my_ friends made something like that for me, they wouldn't be my friend for very much longer."

"Mine either," agreed Ebon whole-heartedly.

ooOoo

"Welcome to Malfoy Manor. Preserving the manner of the Malfoys for centuries," joked Draco, trying to entertain Ebon. They were standing in front of what was more a castle than a family home. The turrets, towers and balconies offered an impressive view, and the surrounding grounds stretched for as far as the eye could see.

Roses and lavender formed a border around immaculately cut grass, and a corkscrew willow grew in the centre of a small maze of tiny shrubs. Quince, Pomegranate and, surprisingly, a Persimmon tree grew around the considerable area in an apparently random fashion, and annuals sprouted up here and there among them. Ebon wondered for a moment who could possibly tend to the huge grounds.

_Well they'd have servants, obviously_, thought Ebon. _Hundreds of 'em. They really **must** be wealthy_.

"Ha ha." Ebon always liked to show how much he appreciated the humour of his associates.

"You could at least have the courtesy to _pretend_ to be amused. You are, after all, my guest," mock grumbled Draco.

"That would take considerably more acting skills than I currently posses."

"Where did _that_ come from?" snorted Draco.

"I don' know," admitted the street urchin, grinning carelessly up at the quickly darkening heavens.

"You'll have to stop doing that. Take more care, at least around my parents," warned Draco, marvelling, despite himself, at the thoughtless abandon in which Ebon went through life.

"Stop what? Take more care of what?" enquired Ebon.

"That – grinning all the time, letting _anyone_ see what you're feeling," Draco tried to explain what had offended him and failed miserably.

"What? Ya think I should wear a mask do ya?" asked Ebon scornfully.

"Well, metaphorically speaking. Yes," replied Draco simply. "I mean, you don't have a shred of diplomacy or tact," he observed, as if unaware this statement could possibly offend.

"Tact is for people not smart enough to use sarcasm," said Ebon, poking his tongue out at the taller boy.

"Yeah, right," grinned Draco.

"No, it's true. Scientific fact, don't ya know?"

"Gods, you're weird," drawled Draco.

"Hey!" protested Ebon.

"It's a fact, don't ya know?" said Draco, attempting to imitate Ebon's accent, and failing spectacularly.

Ebon couldn't hide a slight snigger.

Draco gave Ebon a long-suffering look. "You see," he said. "That's exactly what I mean. If I were any less of a person, I would be rather offended at your lack of discipline."

"Is tha' what ya rich kids are taught? Discipline?" asked Ebon.

"Among other things," confirmed the 'rich kid'.

"Gods. I'm glad I'm not one of ya," said Ebon.

"Quite," said Snape from behind the chatting boys, causing them to jump and whirl around.

"Bloody hell! Ya scared me out of a year of me life," panted Ebon, blinking in surprise at the sudden apparition of his father.

"Same," agreed Draco. "Where did you _come_ from anyway?"

"Thin air," said Snape sarcastically.

"Oh, so ya _are_ a vampire after all. I was wondering," said Ebon cheekily.

"Be careful what you say," warned Snape. "I don't want to have to hurt you for blowing my cover."

"WHAT?" yelped Ebon.

"He's _joking_ Ebon," explained Draco patiently.

"I knew that."

"Narcissa wants you to come inside, dinner's ready," relayed Snape.

"Dinner? Oh good, I'm starved," said Draco.

"Hurry up then, it's getting cold," warned Snape.

ooOoo

Dinner consisted of roast beef, finely glazed vegetables and a crisp garden salad, freshly picked. The three adults drank a chilled bottle of sparkling red, and there was fresh orange juice for the two young boys. Ebon stared at the banquet and wondered if, and when he was going to wake up.

"Did ya mam make this?" whispered Ebon to his blonde haired companion.

"No. The servants do everything," corrected Draco, looking appalled at the very _thought _of a member of his family having to _work_.

"Servants?"

"The house-elves."

"Oh not _those_ again!" groaned Ebon, rolling his eyes and scowling bad temperedly.

"Quiet," ordered Snape.

Ebon simply glowered at him and continued to pick at the exquisite meal, his appetite quite gone.

ooOoo

Two hours later, Snape decided it was time to leave.

"Hey. Come back soon!" yelled Draco after his friend's retreating back.

"Nah," replied Ebon with a wave and a grin over his shoulder.

"One day, you'll learn some manners, and then I might be able to take you out in public," prophesised Snape.

"Nah," repeated Ebon, carrying a purring, and very full, Soot.

ooOoo

A/N: And that was Chapter 03… only one more pre-written one left. Has anyone picked up on my chapter names? What do you think?

I've had more reviews for those first 3 chapters, than I've had for all _5_ chapters of _The Boy Who Almost Wasn't_… I'm not sure if I should be flattered or not! Just kidding! I'm over the moon! Thank you all!


	5. Hark, Hark, the Dogs do Bark

PAPA'S LITTLE MOCKING-BIRD

Fanfiction By: **MirrorWakes**

A/N: Thank you, as always, to my beta **QueenB** and to all my wonderful reviewers. This is the last pre-written chapter, but don't despair, I've just sent off Chapter 05 to **QueenB**! Chapter 05 was the one that took me a year to write and, as a consequence, I came down with severe writer's block! But all that's over and done with so… On with Chapter 04 my fine comrades! High-Ho Silver, Away!

Replies to Reviewers:

**Danu3** – lol Yes, that's right! That's what I _meant_! Thank you very much for reviewing.

**twighlightshadow** – Thank you very much!

**laer** – Thanks, I know how you feel. Every time I see an extract from a book or poem I've read in a fanfic, I get very excited too…

**scardi** – '…I love the way you update (everyday with long chapters)' yikes! Don't expect me to keep _that_ up; I actually have to _write_ the chapters now! Thanks for reviewing though!

**Hi** – lol Yes, I wrote this. It was formerly _The Boy Who Almost Wasn't_ but I changed the name – that's where you saw it before… at least I _hope_ that's where you saw it…

**athenakitty** – Thanks for reviewing. You'll find some answers in the next chapter…

**Shadowed Rains** – (waives back) Hi! Yes, there was one more chapter – this one – but I've finally finished 'Chapter 05: _Pop Goes the Weasel!_' So… yeah… Let's all do the Happy Dance! No, it won't be a problem because everyone knew about Harry in the canon, so why should it suddenly become dangerous now? Voldemort is, supposedly (hint, hint), gone, so the Malfoys are playing the respectable citizens, just like in the canon. Snape and Lucius were never _real_ Death Eaters, because that would be wrong (this is sarcasm. yes, you're right – I should stick to what I'm good at lol) …

Chapter 04: _Hark, Hark, the Dogs do Bark… _

Disclaimer:_ This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. I have used many quotes from the authors Terry Pratchett, JD Robb, Lloyd Alexander, MM Kaye, Diana Wynne Jones, Dudley Pope and Douglas Adams in this fic but again, no copyright or trademark infringement is intended._

_Thoughts_

ooOoo

_Hark, hark,_

_The dogs do bark,_

_The beggars are coming to town;_

_Some in rags,_

_And some in tags,_

_And one in a velvet gown._

"Who _are_ the Malfoys?" asked Ebon, tilting his head back so he could see his father's face.

"Purebloods," answered Snape.

"Huh? Pure whats?"

"The opposite to you."

"Oh," said Ebon, suddenly finding the pavement under his feet very interesting.

Snape sighed and grabbed hold of his offspring's shirtsleeve. Turning the boy to face him, the Potions Master searched Ebon's eyes. Apparently, he found what he was looking for, because Snape sighed once again and released the youth. "I didn't mean it like that," he said. "I just meant that the Malfoys are a very rich, very old family."

"Wha', an' Snapes aren't?" asked Ebon in surprise.

"_No_," hissed Snape through his teeth, this was obviously a sore spot. "We're a bit different. Especially you. Your mother was a Mudblo... Muggle-born," explained Snape with a slight cough.

"Ya mean she wasn't a witch?"

"No, she was a witch all right, but her parents weren't," corrected the dark haired man carefully.

"Wha,' so people worry 'bout that sort of thing? That's jus' crazy," scoffed Ebon, shaking his head at the stupidity of the human (or, more specifically, wizard) race. He glanced down at Soot, rolling his eyes at the feline. Soot simply stared back.

"No it isn't!" protested Snape. "It makes sense when you really think about it."

"When I really think about it, I really think I should walk away an' hide," said Ebon.

"Look," continued Snape doggedly. "Too many Muggle-borns will mean more half-bloods and..."

"Half-bloods?"

"That's what you are. It means one parent – your mother in this case – was a Muggle, or Muggle-born."

"I still think it's bloody stupid. I mean if ya gotta be discriminative 'bout someone, couldn't ya choose somethin' better ta be discriminative about? Like foreigners for example, or people who crack stupid jokes? I'm sure you'd find plenty of them sorts round 'ere, an' at least they're _worth_ sneerin' at. Well, more the people who make lame-ass jokes I suppose," amended Ebon. "Some of them should be shot an' buried, like their wise cracks were afore they opened their mouths," continued the dark haired youth, thinking of one particularly annoying boy he'd been forced to share a room with in the orphanage.

"Yes, well, be that as it may, most purebloods share the view that half-bloods, Muggle-borns, Squibs – yes I'll tell you later – and Muggles are inferior."

"Do you?" asked Ebon bluntly.

Snape was beginning to wish he'd never started this conversation with his overly perceptive son.

"I don't know," the Potions Master replied honestly.

"Hell! Why not?" exclaimed Ebon angrily. Soot hissed in surprise at the sudden noise.

"You couldn't possibly understand," said Snape, a note of desperation faintly ringing in his voice.

"Righ'. There's a lot I don' understand in your reckoning, ain't there?" Said the youth accusingly.

"Don't you _dare_ run off again!" ordered Snape, realising his son was about to do just that. "I refuse to wander around all night trying to find you again. In fact I'm beginning to feel it might be simpler to just cast a Full Body-Bind on you and be done with it."

"Body-bind? Don't think I like the soun' of tha'," said Ebon warily.

"You shouldn't. The Full Body-Bind is, in the Wizarding world, generally agreed to have all the stopping power of a well-aimed half brick."

"Oh, splendid," Ebon said sarcastically. "Okay. You an' me both know ya couldn' care less if I live or die. So ya migh' as well let me get on with me life, an' stop threatenin' me with bricks."

Snape regarded Ebon mournfully, trying to work out how to get through to the stubborn youth. It wasn't so much that he was overly fond of him (for the gods' sakes, he'd only met the boy a few hours ago). It was more that he now felt responsible for Ebon. Whatever other faults he might have – and there were many –, Severus Snape never shirked away from a responsibility.

"Look here Boy," began the Potions Master finally. "I've only known you a couple of hours, and already you've annoyed me more than a school-full of incompetent brats ever could, and caused me more grief than you'll ever know. So don't you go telling _me_ that I couldn't care less whether you lived or died, or you'll be doomed to disappointment. Boy, I've got a score to settle with you."

Perhaps it was how Snape said 'I've got a score to settle with you,' but Ebon was a lot less inclined to run off, after Snape's unexpected speech.

"Ya know, tha' was the most I've ever heard ya say at once," confided the green-eyed boy.

ooOoo

"What kept you out so long?" asked Remus Lupin upon their return. "You two look like you've been pulled through a hedge backwards. And do you know you've got a cat following you?" They were standing in front of the staircase, which lead to the Staff Room. A few students were looking at Snape and Ebon out of the corners of their eyes and whispering behind their hands to each other.

"None of your business. It's very un-thoughtful of you to say so. And yes, it's the boy's new stray," Snape answered, in his usual bad humour.

"I think you'll find that it _is_ my business," corrected Lupin. "And it's true, just look in a mirror. What's its name?" he finished, smiling at Ebon.

"Shut up Lupin," said Snape.

"Odd name."

"Soot," answered Ebon, glaring at his father.

"Nice choice," said Lupin approvingly. "You still haven't answered my question," he said, turning back to Snape.

"Which one?"

"Where were you?" clarified Lupin.

"We were at the Malfoy's," Ebon offered by way of explanation.

"WHAT?" yelled Lupin, causing the students to glance at the small group in surprise.

"Oh wonderful, now you've done it. They'll all be at me for weeks now, just you wait. They... _What_?" exploded the dark-haired man. "What do you find so amusing?"

"Oh, nothing. You mean the _Malfoys_ as in Lucius, Narcissa and Draco Malfoy did _this_ to you?" asked Remus Lupin, hardly daring to believe it.

"Of course they didn't," snapped Snape impatiently. "It was wandering around looking for _him,_" he pointed an accusing finger at Ebon. "All morning!"

"So you were wandering around Malfoy Manor all morning looking for Ebon?" asked Lupin disbelievingly.

"No," said Snape, rolling his eyes. "I was wandering around _Hogsmeade_ looking for the juvenile when I happened upon Lucius Malfoy, who had also lost _his_ son, and we found the boys together. So Lucius invited us around to Malfoy Manor."

"After we'd 'ad a drink at the Three Broomsticks," added Ebon.

"Oh of course, how silly of me not to have guessed. And _why_ were you looking for him?" asked Lupin suspiciously.

"I got lost," said Ebon, quite truthfully.

"Listen," began Lupin. "I don't think you should make a habit of calling around to the Malfoy's for afternoon tea. The rumours that will spread don't bare thinking about!"

"We had dinner," Snape said, straight faced.

Lupin rolled his eyes. "It doesn't matter _what_ meal you had, the rumour-mill will turn none the less," he said.

"So? Who cares 'bout rumours? What'll they do?" scoffed Ebon.

"In my experience, rumours can do about as much damage as a ton of marble falling on a passing pigeon," said Lupin pessimistically.

Suddenly a voice called out from above "LUPIN!"

Ebon bent his head back and was just in time to glimpse a tall, skinny man walking down the stairs with a mangy cat (which looked like it had had a few spins by the tail in a prickly bush) slinking along behind him, before they were almost in front of him. The man had a slightly stooped gait and a face, which could only be called homely. Though even then it was the sort of home with a burned out vehicle sitting on the front lawn. As soon as they reached the bottom, the cat wandered off, shooting a curious glance at Ebon over its shoulder. Soot hissed threateningly.

"Mister Filch," acknowledged Snape with a nod towards the newcomer. "I haven't seen you in awhile."

"Professor Snape," returned Filch, grinning at the Potions Master and revealing a set of extremely yellow teeth. "Nice to see you back." He then took a box of tobacco out of his pocket and, placing a lump carefully into his mouth, began to chew. This was evidently most, if not completely, the reason for Filch's discoloured dentures.

"Who's the boy then?" he asked.

"Argus, I'd like you to meet my son," Filch almost choked on his tobacco. "Ebon, or, if you like, Harry Potter." Snape waited patiently for Filch's racking coughs to subside.

"Ebon, this is Argus Filch. Caretaker of Hogwarts."

"Bloody hell Severus! What do you want to do a thing like _that_ to me for? Springin' this sort of news onto a man. Why, I nearly had a heart attack!" gasped Filch, eyes clearly watering.

"Damn._ Nearly_," muttered Lupin.

"What was that?" Filch asked sharply.

"Nothing," replied Lupin innocently.

Filch eyed him suspiciously.

"Yes, nice ta meet you too," said Ebon sarcastically. Snape glared at Ebon warningly. Filch simply grunted.

"Good to have you back Professor," said Filch. "Less potions 'accidents' to clean up. Speaking of which..." added the caretaker. "Lupin, we've got another job to do and I need your help with this one, else I've got a snowball in hell's chance of getting it cleared up before tomorrow's lessons!" Chortling at his own wit, Filch led the way down to the Dungeons. Lupin groaned and, reluctantly, began to trail after Filch's retreating back, rolling his eyes and looking appealingly at Ebon. The youth grinned.

"Don't think I like Filch much," confided Ebon to his father.

"Oh? Why not?" asked the dark-eyed man. "It's true that he's a thick-skinned, single-minded man, with the tack of a meat-cleaver and about the same sense of humour. But he's not _completely_ bad."

"Yes, but when 'e cracked that joke, 'e started laughin' like it was the funniest thing he's ever said!"

"And, sadly, it was," said Snape, face completely straight.

ooOoo

"Well, place cleans up nicely," decided Snape, surveying his son's bedroom approvingly.

"Yeah," agreed Ebon. "But where's Soot gonna sleep?"

"The fur-ball sleeps on the floor," Snape decreed sternly. Then, looking at the feline in question, Snape asked the question that had been at the back of his mind ever since he'd first met the 'fur-ball'.

"Why 'Soot'? Of all the names you might have chosen, why did you call the thing 'Soot'?"

"Well wha' _else_ was I supposed to call 'im? The Grim Reaper?"

"Why on earth would you want a cat anyway?"

"The un-dead are afraid of them," said Ebon sarcastically.

"Un-dead?" queried Snape.

"Yeah. Werewolves 'n' the like."

"Hah! And who told you that?"

"Dunno. Why?"

"There's a lot of things you need to learn about the Wizarding world," said Snape. "One of which is that Werewolves _eat_ cats."

"Oh. Well. Righ'." Ebon looked at Snape with a defeated expression. _Nothing_ had been normal since he'd first set eyes on the irritable man in the leather jacket. "Un-dead; tha' would explain Filch at least," he said, perking up slightly.

"Watch it you," warned Snape. "Besides, he's got a cat: Mrs. Norris."

"No theory's perfect. Wait, _Mrs. _Norris?"

"Don't ask. Nobody knows."

ooOoo

As they were eating dinner in Snape's lodgings (at least, Snape was eating. Ebon was still wondering what to do with the slop that was placed before him) Ebon's eyes wandered around the room. He spotted the small golden cauldron he'd tried to do away with earlier, and one or two other expensive looking artefacts on either side of it. But Ebon was honest (which meant that he didn't attempt to steal anything too big to carry in his pocket), and he never bit a hand which fed him – even if the food _was_ only recognisable by largely stretching the definition of the word. Besides, this made it so much harder for the hand to feed him again tomorrow.

Snape followed Ebon's eyes around to room and saw exactly where they landed. "Don't let me see you trying to steal anything, or it'll be the worse for you," he warned.

"Now I'm insulted!" said Ebon indignantly. "If I stole somethin', ya sure as 'ell wouldn' see me."

"Oh, that's your motto is it?" asked Snape, amused despite himself.

"Nope. Me motto's 'I'm 'ere therefore I take'."

This time, Snape couldn't stop a short laugh from escaping.

"Truly?"

"Nah," chuckled Ebon.

"Eat your dinner boy," Snape mock growled.

"'Ow can I eat this stuff? Wha'_ is_ it?" exclaimed Ebon.

"Semolina."

"Great."

"You know, we still haven't gotten you any new clothes. So tomorrow we'll have to-"

"I'm NOT goin' back to Hogsmeade!" interrupted Ebon forcefully.

"Fine. Then we'll just have to go to Diagon Alley," compromised Snape.

"Don't sound any better," grumbled the street rat. "Why do we 'ave ta go _anywhere_?"

"Because I said so," answered the Potions Professor.

ooOoo

The next day – Saturday – was a complete contrast to Ebon's mood. Cheerful and sunny, the weather seemed – to Ebon at least – to mock his feelings of woe and foreboding in the face of the upcoming shopping expedition.

"We'll be getting there via floo," announced Snape as soon as they had both finished their breakfast.

"Ya mean we'll 'ave ta sneeze all the way there?" asked his confused son. "Do ya 'ave a potion what makes 'em powerful enough ta blow us ta where we're goin'?"

Snape stared at his son for a moment before forcefully slapping his forehead with the palm of his hand. "Of course," he breathed. "You haven't travelled by floo powder before. Damn. This is going to be even more complicated than I realised."

"Well I don' 'ave a problem with staying behind," Ebon said hopefully. "No problem at all."

"And I don't have a problem with dragging you along every step of the way," Snape threatened in a deceptively conversational tone. "No problem at all."

"All right, all righ'. Keep ya 'air on."

Snape glowered at his offspring and pointed to a corner of the room, closest to the fireplace.

"Stand over there," he ordered.

"I'm in disgrace am I?" chuckled Ebon.

"More or less," confirmed Snape, apparently serious.

Following his son, Snape reached on top of the mantelpiece and selected largish mahogany jar inlaid with silver in an intricate Celtic design. It was one of the items Ebon had had his eye on earlier, and the former thief surveyed the object with apparent relish, recognising an expensive piece when he saw one. Snape noticed Ebon's interest and, against his better judgement, handed the jar over to the boy so he could have a closer look. Ebon voiced his approval in a long, low whistle and, after a last lingering look, handed the ornamental jar back to his father. Snape, after a nod of thanks, reached his hand into the jar and pulled what looked to Ebon like a handful glittering fairy dust.

"This is floo powder," explained Snape. "You throw it into the fire, step in after and say where you wish to go."

"Righ'," said Ebon. "So ya want me ta walk inta a fire do ya? I'm no' sure this ain't just somethin' ta kill me off," he said suspiciously.

"Boy if I wanted to murder you, I'd cast a quick spell. Not resort to such... Muggle means," Snape said disdainfully, reassuring Ebon. "Right, now you go first, Diagon Alley's the place. Make sure you speak _very_ clearly though. That's very, very important Ebon. I'll follow you, so wait for me at the other end. Make sure you keep your elbows tucked firmly by your sides, shut your eyes tightly, and don't panic and try to get out too early; I'll probably never find you again, and I'm sure you don't want to be stuck up a chimney for the rest of your life. Have you got all that?" he asked.

Ebon nodded solemnly and held out his hand for the powder; closing his fist tightly once he'd received it. Stepping over to the fire, which seemed to be going continuously to keep out the chill of the dungeons, the youth scattered the floo powder over the flames and gingerly followed. Ebon was relieved to find himself not burned to a crisp. Instead, the flames gave him a slight tickling sensation, and he had to stifle a nervous giggle. Looking up through the chimney, all Ebon saw was a long, black tunnel, and he wondered how on earth _he_ was going to fit through there, let alone Snape. Looking back at his sire, who nodded in what he probably thought was a reassuring manner, Ebon opened his mouth and spoke his first magic words: "Diagn Ally."

"Oh SHIT!" cursed Snape.

ooOoo

Ebon tumbled out of a fireplace, looking and feeling the worse for wear. He stood up, brushing himself off as much as he was able, and looked around curiously. He seemed to be in a second-hand store, but unlike any he had ever been in before. There were the usual lanterns, old books and bottles; but there were also strands of what looked like human hair along with shrunken heads, sculls and something that looked almost like a wolf paw, but quite a bit bigger. Ebon stared in fascinated horror at these examples from the dark side, before shaking off the near trance and running for the door. He may be young, but he wasn't stupid.

_**This** is Diagon Alley_? thought Ebon as he stared around at the dingy shops and shifty people surrounding him. _What sort of place has Snape brought me to_?

Ebon shifted nervously as he noticed two _very_ old people starting toward him. They didn't look too friendly, and somehow Ebon didn't think they were intending to chat about the weather.

"Boy!" snapped a familiar voice behind him. Ebon turned quickly and smiled with relief at the figure of his father standing in the doorway of the second-hand store. He never thought he'd come to welcome the sight of his rescuer, but Ebon _definitely_ wasn't going to run away this time.

Snape glared at the advancing couple – who backed off rather quickly – and brusquely whisked his son away to a less public area.

"Thanks," panted Ebon gratefully, when Snape had finally slowed down enough for the youth to catch his breath. "Who _were _they anyway?"

"Oh, no one in particular," said Snape. "Just an old Wizarding family."

"_Very_ old," muttered Ebon. "What'd they wan' with me anyway?"

"Nothing pleasant, I can assure you," said Snape. Seeing his son's startled expression, the Potions Master attempted to explain: "Ebon... When you left the Muggle world, you also left the law behind. Here it's the _lore_!"

"Same difference ain't it?" asked the puzzled street kid.

"Same thing? No. Not at all."

"Then wha'...?"

"Never mind that now. Let's just get out of here!"

"Get _out_ of 'ere? Ain't this Diagn Ally?"

"No. This is _Knockturn_ Alley."

"Knockturn! How'd I get _'ere_?"

"You didn't speak clearly enough for the floo network to direct you," explained an exasperated Snape.

"Then how'd _you_ find me? Didn't ya say-"

"I simply imitated what _you_ said," interrupted Snape. "Now come on. Even though I believe this to be your sort of place, _I_ don't wish to spend any more time here than necessary."

"Hey, hang on. I was a con an' a thief, not bad! An' besides, ya seem ta know ya way 'round 'ere quite nicely," Ebon observed suspiciously.

Snape simply glanced at his son, but Ebon was sure he caught a glimpse of something suspiciously similar to amusement in his father's eyes.

ooOoo

"What's tha'?" asked Ebon, pointing to a clear tennis-ball sized orb sitting on a cushion in a shop window. They'd made it to Diagon Alley without further incident, though Ebon could have sworn he'd seen several eyes following them from a few nooks and crannies.

"That's a Remembrall. When the smoke trapped inside it turns red, that means you've forgotten something," explained Snape.

"Sounds pretty useless," said Ebon with contempt. "How are ya supposed ta remember wha' you've forgot?"

"Yes," agreed Snape, looking at his young son is surprise. "That's exactly right."

"Well what's the point of it then?"

"People love magical novelties which don't carry unpleasant consequences."

Ebon snorted. "Why can' they jus' tie a knot in their hanky like everyone else?"

"That's too easy. Just look at -" Snape's reply was interrupted by a group of red heads barrelling past, arguing at the top of their voices about which shop they were to visit first.

"Quality Quidditch!" insisted two identical boys. "Yeah!" agreed one who looked a few years younger.

"Just because you two made the house team this year, doesn't mean everyone is suddenly Quidditch-mad," protested a boy who looked at least two years older than the twins.

"Why don't we ask Ginny what _she_ wants?" suggested a boy who looked older still. "After all, it _is _her birthday, and this _is _her birthday party."

"Shut up Charlie," said one of the twins. "Ginny _likes _Quidditch, don't you?" he asked, punching the only girl playfully in the arm.

"Yeah!" said the girl brightly.

"God's defend us, it's the _Weasleys_," groaned Snape.

"Who?" asked Ebon.

"Professor Snape!" called the boy who didn't seem to like Quidditch, upon recognising his teacher.

"Don't call him over Percy!" hissed one of the twins, glaring at the older boy and the Potions Professor in turn.

"Gee, popular guy aren't you?" quipped Ebon.

Snape raised an eyebrow at his spawn and gave him a pointed look.

"Hello Professor Snape," greeted what looked like the oldest of the bunch nervously.

"Mister Weasley," acknowledged Snape, inclining his head slightly.

"Ho-how are you?" the Weasley boy continued bravely.

"Fine," answered Snape, in a voice which effectively tortured and killed any further conversation.

"Well, we'll just be off then," said Percy, obviously making an effort to be cheerful. Snape's voice told Percy he was in a mood even a _Gryffindor_ wasn't brave enough to deal with.

Snape nodded and watched the Weasley clan hurry off.

"Hell! Anyone would think I'd broken a mirror over a black cat, whilst walking under a ladder on Friday the thirteenth!"

"I take it ya don' like tha' lot then?" ventured Ebon.

"Of all the places to meet that bunch, it has to be here, and the day after I return from my 'adventure' as Lupin so kindly put it," complained the Potions Professor. "Fate must be friends with the Fool again(1)."

"Wha'? Never thought you'd be the sort ta believe in tha' kind of thing," said Ebon in surprise.

"I don't," contradicted the onyx-eyed man. Snape believed everything had come into being by chance or, in the particular case of the Weasley twins, to spite him.

"Ach! You're mad," decided Ebon, not for the first time.

"You don't have to be mad to teach," Snape said. "But if you are, it helps," he added slyly.

"So, where're we goin'?" asked Ebon, changing the subject.

"Over there," Snape pointed to a cheerful looking shop with all sorts of strange material displayed in the window.

"Wha' is it?" asked the illiterate street kid.

"Madam Malkins, robes for all occasions," Snape read.

"Sounds fun," said Ebon, voice dripping with sarcasm.

ooOoo

(1)This is a traditional Wizarding expression, which refers to the gods of old and their rather fickle relationships.


	6. Pop Goes the Weasel

PAPA'S LITTLE MOCKING-BIRD

Fanfiction By: **MirrorWakes**

A/N: Thank you very much to my beta Rosie. She's a lifesaver!

Replies to Reviewers:

**Lindfriend **– Thank you so very much! Don't assume anything about Ebon's character… I've got a few things in mind that might surprise you very much, so you may get your wish after all.

**the angel with no name –** Thanks.

**Kamp** – '…the title is quite fitting seeing as how ebon is imitating Snape. It puts a different spin on mocking bird.' Wow. I was actually thinking of the Nursery Rhyme; 'Hush little baby, don't say a word. Papa's going to buy you a Mocking-Bird…' Now I think about it though, your explanation makes about as much sense. Thank you so much for reviewing. I love long reviews.

**fragonknight01** – Thank you very much.

**Romulus** – Wow, thank you so much! Actually, I do speak like that – in my head. They're the thoughts I never dare say out loud.

**Dreamweaver **– Thanks. Yes, I agree about the 'Ebon', 'Harry' analyses.

**Rhennan** – Thanks.

**Danu3 – **Thank you.

**Shadowed Rains** – Thank you so much! I think I know what you mean about the Harry-Malfoy dilemma. This will all be explained later… I hope.

Thanks heaps to everyone else who reviewed! Sorry about the wait – this time it wasn't my fault. I've already started the 6th (7th) chappie!

Chapter 05: _Pop Goes the Weasel!_

Disclaimer:_ This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. I have used many quotes from the authors Terry Pratchett, JD Robb, Lloyd Alexander, MM Kaye, Diana Wynne Jones, Dudley Pope, Norton Juster_ _and Douglas Adams in this fic but again, no copyright or trademark infringement is intended._

_Thoughts_

ooOoo

_Up and down the City Road,_

_In and out the Eagle,_

_That's the way the money goes,_

_Pop goes the weasel!_

After a nerve-wracking trip to Madam Malkin's – in which Ebon attempted to make an imaginary tent out of one of the many racks of robes and, when caught, grabbed onto said robes, bringing the whole kit and caboodle crashing down – and an eventful trip to the Magical Menagerie – where Snape very nearly brained his son whilst attempting to levitate one of the wickerwork baskets off the highest shelf, and being distracted by a giant psychotic orange cat sticking its claws into his scalp and yowling like a demented banshee. Luckily, Ebon was quick on his feet, and able to avoid getting concussion from a rogue cat-holder. – Snape agreed to take Ebon to Quality Quidditch Supplies, on the condition that he _keep his thieving little hands to himself and not move from his_ – Snape's – _side_!

When they arrived, Ebon stared in awe at the various gloves, balls, robes and brooms strategically placed around the store. "What' the heck's all this for? Is this stuff all quid ditch stuff? An' what's quid ditch anyway?"

"A foolhardy sport played on broomsticks," said Snape contemptuously.

"People c'n _fly_ on one of these things?" Ebon asked, pointing at a particularly flimsy-looking broomstick.

"Yes, boy," said Snape, mentally rolling his eyes. "Brooms can fly, dive, barrel roll and perform all manner of wondrous stunts for the suicidally inclined."

"I'd love ta try one," announced Ebon, wistfully.

"What? _Why_?"

"It'd be… I don' know. I jus' think I could do it."

Snape glared at Ebon. The Potions Master loathed flying, and couldn't begin to understand why anyone would entrust their life to a flimsy wooden pole. He could only conclude that those sorts of people either hated their existence, and therefore wished to end it or, in the case of the Gryffindor Quidditch team, were simply too stupid to know any better.

"That statement was entirely too Gryffindor-like. Have you ever flown before? No," he sneered scathingly, when Ebon shook his head. "I thought not. You'll be in the hospital wing before-"

"Madam Hooch's goin' ta teach me!" Ebon interrupted.

"Which doesn't mean you'll be any good at it." Snape seemed to be taking undue pleasure in dashing his son's long-cherished dreams. "Neither I, nor your Muggle-raised mother," Snape's lip curled slightly, "had the slightest bit of talent for aerial dare-devilry."

Any reply Ebon might have made died on his lips when he caught sight of a tuft of flame-red hair, peaking out from behind a shelf stacked with gloves, blue robes and padding.

"Hey! What're _you_ lookin' at?" Ebon asked angrily.

Snape whirled around just in time to see one of the redheaded clan sidle shamefacedly into view. "Weasley!" he snapped. "What do you think you're doing? Lurking around behind there! Is that what you parents have been teaching you, _eavesdropping_?"

The Weasley boy scowled ferociously at this new insult and drew himself up to his considerable height. "I was just looking at the Quidditch gear, when you two walked in and started arguing. It's not wrong to look at stuff in a shop, is it?"

"Why you _insolent_ child!" snarled Snape. "How _dare_ you speak to me in such a manner?"

"You're not my teacher yet! I can talk you any way I like!"

"No, as you so kindly pointed out, I'm not your teacher _yet_, but I will be next year. Assuming you don't turn out to be a Squib that is. Then I won't have the unpleasant task of attempting to cram valuable knowledge into your nonexistent mind."

The Weasley boy, whose face had been slowly turning an interesting shade of pink throughout Snape's tirade, went an alarming shade of red (which clashed horribly with his hair) at this last insulting remark.

"What the heck's a Squib?" asked an exasperated Ebon. "Ya keep on sayin' tha' word, but ya never tol' me wha' it _means_!"

"Squib?" asked the redhead, momentarily distracted from his anger by the odd question. "A Squib's a Muggle, born to wizards."

"Wha'? So they're the opposite to a Muggle-born?"

"Yeah. Why don't you-"

"Enough!" ordered Snape, scowling. "Come, Ebon. We've loitered here far too long. _Move_, Weasley!"

The redhead glowered bad-temperedly at the Potions professor, before pointedly turning his attention to Ebon.

"I'm Ron Weasley, by the way," he said.

Ebon grinned and walked over to Ron, his own hand extended. "Ebon Boon, Snape or Harry Potter," he announced.

"Huh? _Harry Potter_!"

"Ebon! Stop this right now! We are going to the Leakey Cauldron and-"

"You're not _really_ Harry Potter, are you?" Ron blurted-out.

"Apparently. I only foun' out yesterday. I'm supposed ta be a wizard too. I suppose you're one. A wizard I mean. How do ya-"

Ebon's speech was cut short by Snape grabbing his arm and dragging him bodily toward the front of the shop.

"Just once I want you to _listen_ to me. Boy, you _will_ do as I say, or so help me, I'll make sure you regret it!"

"Let _go_ of me! Stop! You're hurting me. OW!" Ebon gasped, as Snape gave his arm a particularly savage jerk.

"Hey!" cried Ron. "Why're you-"

"I happen to be this brat's father!" Snape growled.

"You… _Father_! What? Huh?"

Snape shot Ron a withering glance and continued to propel his son out of the shop. The Weasleys, or Redheaded Plague as he privately called them, was his least-favourite family. They were everything he despised – Gryffindor. No relative of _his_ was going to associate with the likes of _them_. The twins, Fred and George, had come within a hair's-breadth of utterly demolishing his classroom on six separate occasions (it wasn't as though they were particularly _incompetent_, quite the opposite in fact, it was their never-ending urge to experiment that landed them in strife). The two oldest of the bunch, Bill and Charlie, had both been out-going to the point of insolence (an irritating trait their brother, Ron, seemed to share), and the academic, Percy, was the most annoying of all.

"If I _ever_ catch you talking to their likes again, you'll regret it," warned Snape. He then proceeded to rant about the unadvisable leniency Dumbledore showed towards Gryffindors in allowing them to have the day off for something so trivial as their little sister's birthday. By the time Snape had exhausted this particular topic and moved onto 'the constant rewarding of Gryffindor House for nothing more than sheer stupidity', the pair had arrived at the Leaky Cauldron. Ebon sighed thankfully as he took a handful of Floo powder. He didn't think he could take much more of Snape's ear-bashing. For the second time that day, the street urchin scattered the sparkling powder over the flames, and quickly stepped in afterwards. This time making sure he spoke _very_ clearly.

ooOoo

"Right," began Snape, "it's time we got you literate. I didn't think of it yesterday and it's about time we began."

Ebon grimaced and lifted his head to glance at the clock. "At six o'clock in the mornin'?" he asked incredulously. However, most of this sentence was lost in Ebon's jaw-cracking yawn.

"Well, I'm starting classes tomorrow, so today's the only chance I have to give you my undivided attention," Snape explained. "I'm going to have my work cut out for me these next few weeks. The professor that Dumbledore hired in my stead has proved himself to be nothing short of incompetent! According to Filch, the Gryffindor first years have managed to set fire to my classroom not once, but _twice_ during my absence!"

Ebon grunted and slowly sat up. He glowered at Snape, disgruntled at being woken so early after such a late night. He and Snape had had a long talk about acceptable behaviour, who _not_ to associate with and the rules the street urchin would abide by whilst he was still under Snape's protection. They'd argued quite a bit, so before they knew it, it was already eleven thirty.

"Who's 'we'?" asked Ebon suspiciously.

Snape sighed and matched his son scowl for scowl. "The headmaster took the liberty of recruiting Lupin to be your second tutor. Apparently I can't handle teaching you as well as my classes."

Ebon's mood brightened slightly. "So it's no' jus' you? Well, that's somethin'."

"How very flattering," sneered Snape. "I'll be sure to come to you next time I'm feeling down."

"You _have_ no feelings," Ebon muttered spitefully.

"Oh how original. Right, get up. We'll have breakfast and then commence your educational experience."

Ebon groaned and swung his legs over the side of his bed. He pulled a new shirt over his head and stepped out of his pyjama bottoms. Ebon had got into the habit of sleeping half-naked in the Ken Payne Home for Foundlings. It had been stifling hot all year round and not even living on the streets for four years could break this custom.

"Where're we havin' breakfast?" called Ebon.

"In here," answered Snape from the living room.

"That'd be right," muttered Ebon. "If ya try an' make me eat tha' semolina crap again, I'll chuck it in one of ya weird mixes!"

"You'll do nothing of the sort! If you come anywhere within a ten-mile radius of my Potions Laboratory I'll hex you," warned Snape.

"Oh my! I feel faint! In fact I'm feeling a little light-headed," stated Ebon mockingly.

"Well that's because there's nothing up there!" retorted Snape. "Now come in here and eat your bloody breakfast, or I'll stuff it down your throat!"

Ebon reluctantly complied, muttering mutinously under his breath. He emerged from his room and immediately glanced at the table, thankfully noting the distinct absence of semolina. Instead, there was a bowlful of what appeared to be frog's eggs.

"What," began Ebon, wrinkling his nose disdainfully, "is _that_?"

"Sago," revealed Snape, smirking smugly at the emerald-eyed boy. "And you'll eat every last spoonful, even if we have to sit here all day."

"Does tha' mean I won't 'ave to learn me letters?"

"Nice try," said Snape, "but nothing short of death will get you out of that one."

"Take me back ta the Hog's Head then. I'm sure tha' bartender would be 'appy ta comply."

Snape's lips twitched slightly in amusement but, nevertheless, he shoved the bowl of frog's eggs under Ebon's nose.

"Eat up. The sooner you finish this sago, the sooner the day'll be over," advised the black-haired man.

"How does eatin' this rubbish make the day go faster?" sneered Ebon. "I'll probably spend the rest of the mornin' throwin' up!"

"Ebon," said Snape.

"Wha'?" growled the street urchin.

"Shut up!"

ooOoo

"So how're ya gonna educate me?" asked Ebon after he'd managed to force, and keep, his breakfast down.

"I'll lock you in your room until you learn," revealed the Potions Master.

Ebon's eyes widened in horror and he began slowly backing away until his back came up against the table. "Ya not serious… are ya?" he said, voice slightly higher than usual.

"Of course not, idiot boy. Dumbledore, not to mention _Lupin_, would have my head if I tried anything of the sort. We are going to sit down and I am going to read extracts from this… _novel_… Dumbledore loaned me for this purpose. Whilst I am reading, you will be following my words and if you have _any_ form of intelligence whatsoever, you'll eventually pick it up."

Snape stalked to the couch and glared at Ebon until the small boy followed suit. When Ebon had settled himself comfortably beside him, the Potions Master opened the book to a random page and began reading in a monotonous tone. "He rose from the table; and advancing to the master, basin and spoon in hand, said, somewhat alarmed at his own temerity, 'Please, sir, I want some more(1).'" Snape continued in this manner for a good fifteen minutes more. When he finally glanced at Ebon, the ten-year-old was watching a beetle climb over the arm of the couch beside him with glazed-over eyes.

"Good gods, boy! Am I _boring_ you?" growled Snape, snapping Ebon out of his trance.

"I 'ave no idea. I stopped listening ten minutes ago," retorted Ebon bad-temperedly. "Bloody 'ell, ya soun' like a scratched record! Repeatin' the same part over an' over an' over an'-"

"Enough!" Snape fumed, flinging Dumbledore's book in the direction of the lounge chair and scowling ferociously at it. "Right, that's it." He turned his menacing look upon his son. "You're bloody well learning to read by the end of the year, or else! And I guarantee that it _won't_ be enjoyable!"

"For you or me?" said Ebon.

Snape grabbed hold of the small boy's shirt and yanked him off the couch. He roughly pulled out a chair and flung Ebon into it. "Now sit still and _concentrate_, Ebon. Or the raging infernos of Hell itself will be preferable to my wrath!"

"Wow," breathed Ebon, impressed. "I've gotta remember that one."

Snape groaned and summoned the book. "May the gods save me from Weasleys and my ten-year-old offspring," he muttered.

ooOoo

"How long are we stayin'?" asked Ebon, attempting to run a comb through his now neatly cut shoulder-length hair. He set the implement down after a mere ten strokes, already bored with grooming himself.

"Until lunch finishes. Here. Stop. Come back here _now_." The emerald-eyed boy halted, halfway to the door and looked back over his shoulder in askance. "Ebon, your hair's not properly combed unless you can run your fingers through it without a hitch," snapped Snape, inadvertently revealing the cause of his own greasy black locks. "Usually about one hundred and twenty strokes will suffice." He snatched the comb off the sink and proceeded to yank it ruthlessly through his son's ink-black hair. The small boy to couldn't help but wince as his sire mercilessly used the metallic fine-toothed comb to pull each knot apart, and his eyes began watering around Snape's third tug.

The Potions professor did have a motive for tormenting Ebon – it had been two and a half days since the pair's eventful Diagon Alley excursion, and last evening Draco Malfoy had owled the pair with an invitation to visit Malfoy Manor for lunch the following day (it was difficult to tell which had thrilled Ebon the most: the prospect of seeing his friend again, or receiving actual mail). Snape, determined not to be shamed this time round, had made it his mission in life for he and his offspring to look immaculate, or as close to it as they could come. He had even gone so far as to choose Ebon's clothes for him – a pair of grey Muggle strides and a royal blue sweatshirt under a brown, plainly cut robe – and probably would have dressed him as well if Ebon hadn't threatened to 'accidentally' knock his drink over once they were lunching at the Manor. Unwilling to risk this embarrassment, Snape settled for breathing down his son's neck and 'helping' as the boy attended to his toilette.

"Right, that's you done," announced Snape, finally setting down the torturing device disguised as a comb, to Ebon's great relief.

"Jus' a minute," said Ebon. "Wait for me outside, I won't be long. Hey! I can' exactly run off in _'ere_," he continued, rolling his eyes theatrically as Snape hesitated.

"Very well. Don't be too long, or we _will_ be late," warned Snape, stepping out of the bathroom and closing the door behind him.

Ebon sighed with relief. His father's instinctive distrust of human nature could be extremely inconvenient at times. Ebon scowled and picked up the comb Snape had used to straighten-out his locks. He gave the object one last loath-filled look before dropping it into the toilet, quickly pulling the chain afterwards. Then, grinning in a self-satisfied manner, he joined his father in the main room, more than ready to see his friend Draco again.

ooOoo

Draco Malfoy was just as excited to see Ebon. He'd actually missed his emerald-eyed companion, and had a whole list of sensational games to play, important things to talk about, and impossible stories to tell him. Normally, Draco didn't pay much attention to children of a similar age (preferring to flatter their parents instead). As long as they gave him their undivided attention, Draco was satisfied, and could prattle away for hours about totally inconsequential topics – his favourite being what he was going to bully his parents into buying him for Christmas, his birthday, or for simply existing. Malfoy younger hardly ever shared his possessions. He didn't mind showing them off or, rather, he _loved_ showing them off, but the thought of actually allowing another to touch one of his belongings was abhorrent to him. Therefore, it would have surprised a great number of people (had they known) when the blonde-haired boy practically dragged Ebon up to his room and proceeded to plonk at least ten items into the street kid's unresisting arms.

"How much stuff 'ave ya _got_?" exclaimed Ebon, staring open-mouthed into Draco's open toy box. "'Ow does all this _fit_? Some of it'd take up 'alf'f the room on its own!"

"The box has an enlargement charm on it. You can put anything in there and it'll never get full," explained Draco impatiently. "Come on, let's play on my bed."

Draco Malfoy led the way to his four-poster double bed where Ebon gratefully dumped his armload of the older boy's toys.

A bright flash caught Ebon's eye. "What the begeezers is _this_?" he asked curiously, holding up a tiny golden ball, no bigger than his thumbnail.

"That's a Snitch. Wait a moment, I'll show you something…" Draco rummaged around in his pile of toys until he found a miniature man, dressed in black and white robes, who was mounted on a broomstick. "This," he began proudly, "is Seeker Eunice Murray of the Montrose Magpies."

"What's a seeker? Are the Magpies a quid ditch team?" asked Ebon eagerly.

Draco gaped at his friend, astonished at the boy's lack of knowledge. "Yeah, the Magpies are a Quidditch team… You've never _heard_ of Quidditch before, have you?"

"We wen' inta a shop yesterday," said Ebon. "It sol' some quid ditch stuff."

Draco shook his head, smirked, then launched into a lengthy explanation of the Wizarding world's most popular sport. "…and the Montrose Magpies are the best team ever because they always win," he finished, grinning at Ebon triumphantly.

"Bloody hell. So what's this Eunice chap suppos' ta do?" Ebon studied the black and white figurine curiously whilst absently rolling the miniature Snitch between his forefinger and thumb.

"Here," said Draco, clapping his hands once and holding them out, palm up, to Ebon.

Understanding, the black-haired boy threw the golden ball to his friend who caught it deftly. He whispered and suddenly the tiny ball grew tiny wings, which fluttered lightly against Draco's palm.

Ebon yelped in shock when Eunice Murray suddenly came to life. The miniature man shook his head as if brushing off a long sleep and flew into the air to hover just in front of Draco's nose. The Snitch followed suit but, instead of hovering in front of Draco, it whizzed off to some obscure part of the room and Ebon lost sight of it.

"Er, I think ya jus' lost ya Snitch…"

"That's the _point_," explained Draco. "Now we have to look for the ball and tell Eunice where to find it."

"Oh." Ebon jumped off the bed and began searching immediately. "I see it!" he called excitedly after about six minutes. "Over there by the wardrobe."

Draco followed Ebon's pointing finger and, suddenly, he saw it too.

"Go fetch, Eunice!" ordered Ebon.

Eunice Murray gave the ten-year-old a disdainful look before flying swiftly towards the Snitch and snatching it out of mid air.

Four times Draco began the game and each time Ebon spotted the Snitch before he did, usually after only a few minutes while it took Draco at least fifteen before he caught sight of the elusive ball.

"Tha' was brilliant!" yelled Ebon, when they at last finished the game.

"Yeah, I know!" agreed Draco, barely masking the resentment in his voice. They were _his_ toys. Ebon wasn't allowed to be better at the game than _he_ was. Draco looked up and caught sight of Ebon's flushed face and his anger quickly melted away. It wasn't the younger boy's fault, it was just a stupid toy. The magic was probably wearing off a little so the Snitch was slowing down, making it easier for Ebon to see it first. He sighed and held out his hand for Eunice to land upon, Snitch clasped firmly in the little man's fist. After checking that they were both immobile, he stashed them back in the toy box. "They're pretty neat, but I've had them forever. If you want something _really_ wicked, have a look at _these_!" For the next half-hour, Draco showed Ebon the best part of his extensive collection of toys, books and other odds and ends, proving conclusively that time _does_ fly when you're having fun because before they knew it, it was time for lunch.

"Race ya!" challenged Ebon and the boys pelted down the staircase, each attempting to grab the other's robes so they themselves might be the victor.

For the rest of the afternoon, Malfoy Manor rang with the laughter of the two ten-year-old boys as they told each other gruesome stories, made up entertaining games using whatever came to hand (which was quite a lot, considering the great number of knick-knacks Draco had accumulated over his short life) and launched expeditions of adventure and exploration to the highest tower in the Manor, which hadn't been set foot in for over three years, judging by the amount of dust.

When it was time to leave, Draco took Ebon aside and wordlessly held out the golden Snitch.

"Are you sure?" asked Ebon, searching the blonde's face for any sign of trickery.

"Yeah. It's not much use to me – I think the magic's dying."

Ebon grinned at his grey-eyed friend, and snatched the ball out of his grasp. He quickly jammed it into his pocket before Snape could catch a glimpse of his newest possession, certain the strict Potions professor wouldn't allow him to keep it.

"Thank you," said Ebon sincerely.

Draco grinned at him and nodded his head slightly.

"Ebon! We're leaving," announced Snape, as he walked over to the two boys and lightly laid his hand on Ebon's shoulder.

"Next time, you're comin' ta _our_ place, all righ'?" ordered Ebon. "I've go' things I wan' ta show ya. I foun' the coolest room the other day, it-"

"That's _enough_, Ebon, we're _leaving_!" snapped Snape. While his son and the younger Malfoy had been gallivanting about up and down the Manor, he had spent a tedious afternoon with Lucius and Narcissa, making small talk and wishing he was back at Hogwarts. "Of course Mr Malfoy may come to Hogwarts if he wishes." The Potions Master inclined his head slightly to Draco.

"A wonderful idea, Severus," drawled Lucius. "You'll be able to show Narcissa and I that text you spoke so highly of. Now, what was it called…?"

"_Culpeper's Herbal_," offered Snape, mentally strangling his son for putting him in such a position again.

"Ah, yes. That's the one. It'll be wonderful to see Hogwarts again, won't it Narcissa?"

"Oh yes – so many happy memories…"

"Indeed," said Snape. "Well, it's been a pleasure. Very interesting…" _I had no idea there could be so many different shades of purple in one coat of paint_, he thought (Snape had spent much of the afternoon staring at the bare wall over Narcissa Malfoy's shoulder, while she prattled on about who did what to whom, where it happened, and why this little piece of gossip affected the general population of the Wizarding world). "Now Ebon, what do you say?"

"Wha'? Oh! Yeah… Thanks for having me." Before they had entered Malfoy Manor, Snape had taken Ebon aside and drilled him on this nicety.

"Our pleasure," said Lucius, inclining his head slightly.

"Quite," added Narcissa, smiling thinly.

"See you soon!" called Draco after the pair's retreating backs. Ebon turned and waived jauntily.

As soon as they were far enough away not to be heard, Snape turned to his son and growled, "First thing tomorrow, you're going to spend _three_ hours learning to read that book Dumbledore leant you."

"Oh _what_? Why?"

"Because," retorted Snape, and refused to say any more.

ooOoo

(1)Extract from _Oliver Twist_ by Charles Dickens. This one's for you **Akeel **(_Was half expecting him to __say _"_Please Sir, Can I have more..._"). See, I never forget my Reviewers lol.

A/N: Rightio. Please R/R.


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